


Hávamál

by Jamie_Roberts



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Antisemitism, Asatru, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deadpan humor, Declaration 127, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gallows God, Gallows Humor, Gen, Good Friends help you hide a body, Graphic Depictions of Bird Feeding, Graphic Depictions of Truancy, Heathenry, Hurt/Comfort, Judaism, Kinslaying, Magic, Native American/First Nations History, Neo-Paganism, No- I'm serious, Oathbreaking, Paganism, People who fart in the elevator, Police Brutality, Racism, Religion, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sarcasm, The power of friendship, Violations of Guest Right, Well that and The Power of Murder, punching nazis is a valid form of self expression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-07-11 12:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Roberts/pseuds/Jamie_Roberts
Summary: "I counsel you, Loddfafnir, if you'll take my advice. You'll profit if you learn it, it'll do you good if you remember it."Taylor takes up working for a weary traveler.





	1. Incision 1.1

Emma and a few hangers on were at the main doors, but Taylor had maneuvered so there was a small crowd between them and her. Emma probably hadn't seen her. Madison was further back down the hallway and hadn't seen her either. But _where was Sophia_.

Taylor wasn't paranoid to think that her classmates were directing their movements with the targeted intention of making her life He-

Taylor's thoughts caught up short.

Taylor wasn't paranoid to think that her classmates were directing their movements with the targeted intention of making her life hard; the Trio was _unambiguously_ out to get her. Not that Taylor was specifically _worried_ anymore.

They could hardly kill her twice.

But that didn't mean that dealing with them was _fun_. If anything, that made things worse.

Taylor was headed for the East exit, keeping a wary eye out-

Ha!

-for any sign of the third of her tormentors.

"I just want to go home, why do there need to be three of them?"

Three is the most magically charged Prime Number in the Nine Realms.

"Oh, good," she murmured, "I was worried that this might have been completely pointless."

You could just as easily dispense of these mortal distractions.

"My _father_ is one of those 'distractions' you're talking about."

Your father is a weakling and a fool.

"That doesn't change-!"

"Oh _hello_ , Taylor! Talking to yourself, I see?"

Emma.

Shit.

* * *

"I'd need to wait till Spring Break for that one _at the least_. And I'd need to invent a reason for Dad why I'm gone for the entire break. Next Summer might be better."

The First Day of Summer would be a Potent time to start.

"Summer Break will start on..." Taylor wracked her brain for a moment "June 12th? Or maybe it was thirteenth. So we'd be able to make the solstice without me missing any school. I'd just need to find something to tell Dad."

The Solstice would be an acceptable time to start as well, but I refer to the _real_ First Day of Summer, which this year shall be April twenty-first.

"Th-that doesn't even line up with _Spring_ Break!"

It is scarcely my fault that your people have invented two entirely new seasons from whole cloth.

With a cry of distress, Taylor lay her forehead down onto her desk, cradling her head in her arms. "I'm going to miss so much school..."

This _is_ necessary; countless lives are at stake.

Taylor's gut dropped. "Right; going to be a hero." She straitened in her seat, glancing around her bedroom for a moment. "Right. Okay. Right... You're certain that I will survive doing this one, right?"

_I_ did.

Taylor had been dealing with her... employer? Employer. Taylor had been dealing with her employer long enough at this point to recognize this as very specifically _not_ an answer, and said so.

If you follow my instructions _precisely_ , yes, you would survive.

"Right, we can circle back to this one, first lets look at the rest of the list."

The checklist had nine items. Three is the most powerful prime number, nine is three threes, thus making it _perfect_ for the ritual.

Some of these items would be easier than others; travelling to the Mímisbrunnr would mostly be a matter of _nerve_. Taylor planned to have _that_ one started and done after school on Wednesday, two days from now. It would make school awkward but, well, Taylor was used to that. The conversation with Dad afterwards would be _fun_.

Finding Loki would mostly be a matter of luck. Broadly, if he didn't want to be found, Taylor wouldn't find him. Not until she was _much_ more skilled. On the other hand, once Loki was found, several of the other checks would be a _great deal_ simpler.

But then there was...

Taylor sighed in frustration, "Where exactly am I supposed to find a planet-sized primordial god to slay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello, folks! Welcome to my little story. This work was inspired by my brief encounter with another work, called [All-Father](https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/all-father-worm-marvel-odin-taylor.535396/). That fic was a Marvel crossover, which I found disappointing at the time as I had gotten hyped up on the idea of intertwining Norse Myth with the Worm setting. So hyped that I just _had_ to read that story, if only someone would write it. I'll post the next two chapters over the next two days. Three is, after all, a very powerful number.


	2. Incision 1.2

_Breathe, Taylor, breathe._

Mr Gladly was going on about something, but Taylor couldn't focus on him.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._

Today was the day. Today would be her first step on this path which she could _never_ take back.

Today was Wednesday.

_Breathe, just breathe._  
  
When she'd resolved to do this in the first place, it hadn't seemed like such a huge deal. It was bad, it would hurt, but at the time it had been a distant sort of thing. This was an important step for her to become a hero. She was going to _save lives_ , what was a little inconvenience compared to that?

Well, now the day was upon her, and she was having second thoughts.

_In, two, three, four, out, six, seven, eight._

Taylor imagined breaking things to her father. _'Oh, this? It's nothing, I just-'_

BRRRING!

Taylor's back hit her chair hard, her elbow banged hard against her desk, as she whipped her head around frantically, looking for danger.

Nothing.

Right, it was just the bell. Right. Taylor quickly gathered up her school things, and stood. The room was empty; Mr Gladly always let out class early. Taylor had been so wrapped up with her own problems she must have missed it.

Which meant...

_Shit._

Taylor always tried to hurry out of class first so that she could get her next class without getting cornered in the halls. But today she was last. And they were right outside the door, waiting for her.

"Hey there, Taylor! You know, we were _just_ talking about you!"

* * *

_"Fuck_ Emma and _fuck_ waiting till after school. We're doing it _now_."

Taylor strode briskly out the front doors of the school, uncaring if anyone saw her leaving to skip the rest of the day. This was _Winslow;_ nobody cared.

Really? But I thought school was so _important_ to you.

"I don't need your sarcasm right now, just tell me what to do."

* * *

It took three hours for Taylor to arrive at her destination. An out of the way grove in an out of the way park in a bad neighborhood on the opposite side of town. In a way, the travel time was fortunate, giving Taylor time for her nerves to calm. In a another way, it was unfortunate, giving time for her to remember why she was apprehensive to begin with.

"Now what?"

The tree was old, at least a century, and it was _not_ pretty to look at.

Perhaps that was unfair. It was healthy and strong, but it was poorly cared for. Covered in white supremacist graffiti and gang signs, the unfortunate ash tree looked like a massive advertisement for the deterioration of the city.

Perhaps this was an inevitable consequence of the tree being in a city where the police didn't care, and in a poor part of town that had been E88 territory for longer than Taylor had been alive.

Perhaps it was because nine years ago, a man named Henry Davis had been lynched here. The BBPD had never even arrested a suspect, briefly making this tree an unwitting symbol of Neo Nazi power in this city. But then the murder passed from immediate memory, replaced by ever more recent examples of how the Neo-Nazis ran this city. Now nobody came here. The Nazis had forgotten this place, and decent people wanted nothing to do with it.

_Ideally_ , this would be a Common Ash, well tended by priests and planted within a sanctified grove.

Taylor chuckled, "We're a _bit_ short of sacred groves in general around here."

Humbug. Take out the peanuts.

Taylor dutifully unzipped her backpack and extracted a small zip-lock bag of raw peanuts.

Look to your left, do you see the Ravens?

Taylor glance to her side, and sure enough there was a murder of black birds perched on and around a worn-down wood bench, staring at her, "Yes."

Good. Feed them. Carefully.

Taylor took three of the peanuts in her hand, and tossed them midway between herself and the birds. Then she slowly, quietly, took three steps back and repeated the action as the birds stared at her. She did it again, and as she took a third set of three steps back, one of the birds hopped down, and began to investigate the peanuts.

Keep going.

By the sixth repeat Taylor had attracted a small parade of ravens hopping after her. By the eighth repeat, the murder was upon the peanuts as soon as they hit the ground. The ninth time Taylor took the peanuts out of the bag, she didn't need to step back from the birds, instead stepping forwards into their midst as she fed them, the birds now accepting her presence.

Good, now pick up one of the bigger ones.

"Alright," Taylor breathed, slowly stooping downwards. She held the zip-lock bag open in her left hand, her arm angled so that perching there would give good access to the bag. Her right arm she held to the side, in the hopes of gently guiding one of the birds towards her left.

One of the Ravens hopped towards her, _practically in her face_ , warbled quietly as it judged her arm. A moment passed and it jumped up onto her arm and poked its head in the bag.

"A ha!" a smile spread across her face as she stared in disbelief. Its claws bit into her arm, but Taylor was too happy to care about the pain, slowly rising to her feet.

You know, normally, you'd need to feed them like this every day at the same time for months or years to get this kind of result. If ever.

"Hehha," Taylor was transfixed as she stared at the beautiful bird on her arm. Hesitantly, she reached out with her free right hand, and stroked it. The bird looked up at her and warbled briefly, before returning to the peanuts. "I guess I'll just call that divine intervention."

Haheh heh. Yes, I suppose you may.

For nearly a minute, Taylor gently pet the bird, standing otherwise completely still. She couldn't believe how good this felt; the bird _trusted_ her!

"What next?" she breathed.

Now, gently, snap its neck.


	3. Incision 1.3

Taylor froze.

"What?"

You heard me.

"But-but-!"

If you can't do this, then you'll _never_ be able to complete what we set out today to accomplish in the first place.

A tear rolled down Taylor's left cheek, as she continued to stroke the bird, her hand beginning to linger around its head, "She doesn't know. She's so _innocent_..."

Yes. And this makes the sacrifice all the more potent. Her sacrifice will enable you to save many others. Not everyone can be saved in this life, so it is better that those who die do so with purpose.

There was a frozen moment.

"I'm sorry."

The fingers of Taylor's right hand closed around the bird's head and the animal froze. Droplets of blood began to flow down her left arm where the raven's claws bit into her arm.

"I'm sorry."

Taylor wrenched her hand to the side as hard as she could. There was an awful cracking sound, but the bird was _still struggling_. Its claws dug into Taylor's arm as it desperately fought to escape, unknowing that it was already too wounded to survive. All around her, the murder rose up in a frenzy, cawing up a storm in outrage at this betrayal.

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"_

The Raven's claws slashed across her arms, leaving long gashes in their wake. Its wings beat with panicked fury, sometimes catching Taylor across the face, but _Taylor still held its head_.

_"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!"_

Taylor reached out with her wounded left hand, earning even further cuts for her daring, and caught the Raven by the breast. With one great heave of effort Taylor cracked the bird's neck, and all fell still.

Taylor stared down at the dead animal in her wounded hands, expressionless.

...

_"Oh god..."_

Yes, that could have been more gentle on your part.

"I-I-I, I _killed_ her."

Indeed you did.

An awful sob wracked Taylor's body. She dropped the bird's body to the ground, gasping for air. Her head whipped around in a dazed panic, desperate for a way to escape. What she saw instead was not comforting.

The trees were filled with ravens. Everywhere she looked, it was as if every branch seated a Raven, and the entire murder were all staring at her. Dead silent.

"I deserve this. They _should_ hate me. What have I done?"

You did what you needed to do to progress. Are you ready for the next step?

Taylor shook her head vigorously for a moment. She sniffled, fighting back tears, "I-I-I _can't_..."

Then you killed that bird for nothing.

Taylor sobbed, but her breath caught in her throat and she was left gasping for air. She stood there, struggling to get herself under control. I took time, but, eventually, the sobbing and occasional dry-heaves subsided.

"W- _hic_ -What do you need me to do?"

You're going to need the raven's blood.

Taylor started hyperventilating again.

And then you're going to need to paint the rune I taught you on that tree. Then we can begin the ritual.

"I- _ _hhhh__ -I can't breathe! I can't breathe!"

 ** _Taylor_**. Focus on my voice. You _need_ to do this. You have already begun. It is too late to stop.

Taylor's breathing calmed. Her heart continued to race, but her mind cleared somewhat, "Right, __sniff__ , right. I'll just..." Taylor stared down at the Raven she had murdered, as her fellows stared down at Taylor, "Right."

* * *

It was gruesome work, but Taylor's employer was right; it needed to be done. Once Taylor compartmentalized away the part of her mind that was screaming _what are you doing_ , the work was quicker. It took some work to get at the Raven's blood, or at least, to get enough of it to paint runes, but Taylor solved this by cutting open the Raven's breast with one of her own claws.

She returned to the old Ash, her arms stinging badly from their numerous cuts. She held the raven in her left hand, its blood dripping from her right index as she rose it to the tree-

Wait. _There_. Center the rune _there_.

Taylor looked where her finger had stopped. A largish black Swastika graffitied on the bark. What?

" _There_?"

Yes; centered directly atop the Jainist symbol. It will be useful in providing the spell with a little more power.

Taylor stopped short, "I'm... not _sure_ how up to date you are with the mortal world... But _most_ people today wouldn't associate that with Jainists... the guy who put it there certainly didn't."

You assume I care. Do as I say.

"Right, then," Taylor began painting the symbol, three interlocking triangles, _very_ carefully not thinking about what she was dipping her finger back into to keep it wet.

In a few moments she was done. Carefully setting the raven's body besides another tree, Taylor then returned to the American Ash.

You know what to do now.

Taylor nodded shakily, "Yes, well, you didn't exactly tell me how we were getting to this part, but yes. I know what's next."

Taylor raised her right hand directly above the newly pained symbol, and knocked three times, "Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! Open up!"

 _"Caw!"_ Taylor jumped in surprise, and saw that just above her head sat perched a large Raven, staring at her. For a moment she was frozen.

Continue.

"R-Right, right," Taylor straightened and turned to walk once around the tree, counterclockwise. She half-skipped once over a small burrow at the base of the tree which she'd seen at the last moment, and then she was all the way round. She raised her hand and knocked upon her symbol thrice more, "Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! Open up!"

This time, every bird in the tree cawed loudly once upon the end of Taylor's words, startling her once more.

Now she needed no prompting to continue though, and walked once more counterclockwise round the tree, this time easily stepping over the borrow. Returning to her start, she knocked again, "Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! Open up!"

This time, the entire murder, spread across the whole grove, burst into cawing for a brief moment, before all once more fell silent.

Taylor glanced around apprehensively before hurrying around the tree. She knocked thrice more, "Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! Open up!"

She didn't pause as the Ravens burst into prolonged cawing, instead hurrying around the tree a fourth time. She knocked three times upon the symbol, and called out, "Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! Open up!"

This time the cawing became unceasing, and many of the furthest Ravens lept from their perches to alight on the ground in a large circle around the Ash tree. Taylor payed no heed; she needed to finish. She flashed around the tree the quickest she'd been yet, returning to the front to knock thrice a sixth time, "Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! _Open up_!"

The entire murder erupted into motion, their caws near-deafening as the began to swirl in a massive tornado around Taylor, standing there in growing fear.

You may wish to hurry.

Taylor didn't need to be told, sprinting clockwise around the tree, she knocked rapidly and called out _"Mímameiðr! I am a traveler and I wish to come in! Open up!"_

The ravens attacked. Taylor, screaming in terror and pain, ran around the tree, using her left arm to hold herself to the trunk and get around it as fast as possible. The raven's claws bit across her arms unimpeded as she desperately tried to shield her eyes with her right arm. Her clothes dulled glancing attacks elsewhere, but any dedicated attack was still cutting in.

She slammed back to the front of the tree, desperately trying to ward off attacks with her left arm as she knocked rapidly with her right _"Mímameiðr!-I-am-a-traveler-and-I-wish-to-come-in!-Open-up!-Please!"_

Again she raced around the tree as the ravens continued their onslaught, a great many now dive-bombing her to add blunt force to her countless cuts. She knocked thrice more, terrified, unable to see through the tornado of avian rage, and called "Mímameiðr! _Please!_ I am a traveler and I wish to come in! I beg you, _open up_!"

She ran once more around the tree, the pain driving her to run faster than before.

And then her foot caught in the burrow. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from her lungs as the Ravens descended on her, her backpack the only thing lessening their onslaught. Then she could feel it, her foot being tugged backwards, the ground opening up. The Ravens rapidly drew back to safety as Taylor scrambled for a grip, screaming in renewed terror. But the soil simply broke off in her hands, and in mere heartbeats she was swallowed up by the earth.


	4. Incision 1.4

Taylor's head hurt.  
  
"-said that the _last_ time."

And her ribs.

Is there something you're not telling-

  
And her arms. Everything, actually. Everything hurt.  
  
How did she get here?  
  
"-ing you could fill several li-"  
  
It was so hard to remember.  
  
It hurt to think right now.

-id the maths, everythi-

Where _was_ she?  
  
There was... pain. She remembered that much.  
  
It hadn't gone away yet.  
  
"- _ong term_ which I'm more scepti-"  
  
Taylor wanted to go back to sleep.  
  
But...  
  
Where was her bed?  
  
Taylor could feel that she was splayed out on slightly damp rocky ground.  
  
She wanted to get up to look around...  
  
...but she hurt too much to move.  
  
"-nymore than you can fight the tides."

_Funny_ you should mention the-

Who was talking?  
  
Did it matter?  
  
Taylor felt like she'd gone through a cheese grater.  
  
What happened?  
  
It was...

-dance while Fate burns?

"Yes, now ask yourself how you _learned_ -"

...difficult to remember.

-its very _nature_ , seiðr will-

A thought floated through her mind, and she chased it. The pounding of her head made things difficult, but she was able to stop the thought from slipping through her fingers, _You murdered her_.  
  
Taylor's heart skipped a beat. Had she killed Emma? That would be...  
  
... _really_ hard to explain to dad.  
  
Taylor didn't want to kill E-!  
  
...  
  
Well, okay, maybe a little.  
  
"-big party that lasted _four whole years_ and _you didn't bring_ -"  
  
Taylor didn't want to deal with the police!  
  
She had important things to-!

- _massively_ overrated. We didn't _actually party_ for four years straight; there were plenty of lulls while we had to greet all the constant new arrivals, or while someone tried to find more beer, or-

Oh.

"-an't _believe_ that you think-"

 _Oh_.

-ad a lot on my mind, alright? Do you have _any idea_ how much work it took to keep the-

Fuck.  
  
"-not recently, no."

Taylor was pretty sure she remembered what was going on now.

So will you assist me?

"Your goal is foolhardy and unreachable..."

It was _probably_ too late to back out at this point.

But?

"... _But_... it sounds like a good time. I don't have anything else going on, I suppose."

She wondered if they'd noticed her waking up. Maybe if she just held very still...?

"Speaking of, your servant is waking up."

I know. Actually, she's been partially awake for some time.

Fuck.

"I know that."

I _knew_ you know that. I just didn't want to embarrass you by making you reveal whether you _knew_ I knew you know I know. Which you didn't.

"Listen old man, you can't outsmart me. Here, I'll show you; think of a number, any number."

'Old Man?' Did you forget that _you_ are older than _I_ am?

" _Exactly_ , you should _respect_ your elders!"

Maybe if she was lucky they'd keep bickering long enough to forget she was here, and she could make a break for it?


	5. Incision 1.5

No... no. Taylor was seeing this through to the end.  
  
Or, well, _her_ end; _the_ end was probably a fair bit further off. Focus.  
  
She groaned, and tried to pull her arms under herself. Every one of her countless cuts stung from mere contact with the air, and contact with the damp ground was significantly worse. But the pain brought clarity. Taylor pushed herself off the ground. She stumbled, briefly, then caught herself. Glancing around she saw that she was underground in a stone cavern. There was an exit off to the side from which light could be seen and wherein the rock gave way to soil at the ceiling. Or, not _the_ ceiling, _near_ the ceiling, as the ceiling of the tunnel itself was dominated by a massive tree root which wound down into the stone cavern. It continued along the ceiling before reaching the opposite wall and continuing downwards into a pool of water.  
  
The _Mímisbrunnr_. It was maybe ten feet across, perhaps a bit less, and nearly round. There was a raised stone lip built around it, built from ancient and worn bricks, as if ages past someone had hoped to ensure that anyone who accidentally fell in would not only drown but also have a stubbed toe while they did so. And upon that lip sat someone unmistakable, even if Taylor had never seen him before.  
  
Taylor somewhat panicked, unsure how to show proper respect, she bowed her head, "Ah, Great- Lord of- Knowledge? Thank you for- er-"  
  
"Mímir. Just call me Mímir," he was a severed head. A bearded, wrinkled, severed head sat precariously on the lip of the well staring at her. A bearded, wrinkled, severed head _of unimaginable knowledge and power_ sat on the lip of the well _staring_ at _her_.  
  
Don't panic, "Ah, really? Th-that is, I mean, er, my _employer_ -" the head snorted, "-said that its dangerous to say the names of supernatural beings out loud?"  
  
The head chuckled, which is a completely ordinary, non-weird thing for severed heads to do, _do not freak out_ , "Yes, and well it is. But I'll let you in on a little secret," the head leaned forwards, somehow not falling into a roll, and said in a conspiratorial whisper " _Mímir isn't my real name_."  
  
"What?" Taylor hadn't remotely expected that. Was he a _different_ severed-head-at-the-well-of-knowledge or...?  
  
"Ha! No, you misunderstand; I _am_ Mímir. Or rather, I have been introducing myself that way for aeons and none has come along to stop me yet. But Mímir isn't my _real_ name. Mímir is a term which means _The Rememberer_. Do you think perhaps that's what my mother called me as a babe?"  
  
Taylor thought for a moment, "No, but if you've been calling yourself that for aeons, and _everyone else_ has _also_ been calling you exclusively that for aeons, wouldn't that mean that M- _The Name in Question_ is _your_ name regardless? And, therefore, it would be ill advised for me to be throwing it around?"  
  
"No."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
The head glared at Taylor. Taylor stood at perhaps the lowest point in the small room, with the exit trending upwards behind her and the way to the Well slopping upwards as well. But even at the top of small 'wall' on top of a small rise in the ground, Mímir's Head was just barely above eye level with Taylor's knees. Except that the severed head was a god, so Taylor fidgeted under the glare anyway. But she didn't back down. She didn't panic.  
  
The head huffed, and turned to a side of the room which was empty to Taylor's eyes, "Well Hárbarðr, I'll admit, you picked one who isn't a _complete_ fool. Ha!" the head turned back to Taylor, once more mysteriously not falling over, "You know, _most_ mortals would have fallen for that! But _you_ didn't!"  
  
Taylor shuffled in place a bit, "Thank... you? ... For a compliment, you've left me feeling awfully insulted."  
  
"I'm comfortable with that. Now come, sit, tell me a story!"  
  
Taylor furrowed her brow, "A... story? Why? You're the God of Knowledge, what could you want to hear from me?"  
  
He clucked, "So _modest_. And foolish. Don't you know that _everyone_ has a story? Everyone, every living person, be they Man or Elf, Dwarf or Giant, Æsir or Vanir, they all have something they're just _dying_ to get off their chests. What is your's?"  
  
"But..." Taylor struggled to put her thought into words, "don't you _know_? You-you drink from the Well of Knowledge every morning! You've been doing that for _aeons_. Shouldn't you know just about _everything_ by now?"  
  
"Yes. But I want _your_ perspective; show me the world through your eyes."  
  
"Sh- _should_ I?" she asked, turning in the direction Mímir had addressed earlier.

Yes.

"A-alright," Taylor stepped up to the Mímisbrunnr, sitting down at its side, facing Mímir. She could see, closer now, that there was something white floating motionless in the water near her but she didn't want a closer look at _that_. The waters were clear, _very_ clear, and yet she could not see a bottom. She shivered, and looked away. "Where-" she stopped and breathed, "Where should I begin?"  
  
“Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”  
  
Taylor smiled weakly, "Lewis Carol. I suppose I'l start there; my mother was a literature teacher. She's the one who raised me really.."

* * *

  
  
"...and that's why I'm doing this; I want to be a hero, I want to be _important_. I don't want to be some _statistic_ , where the people in power think its okay that I'm suffering just because I'm nobody. And more than that, I want _everyone_ to have that too. I don't want the Slaughterhouse 9 or the Endbringers or Nilbog or whoever-the-fuck to be allowed to just roam around killing people without anyone to stop them."  
  
Mímir spoke up, for the first time in a while, "And you think that by bringing magic back into power on Miðgarðr you will achieve this? Do you believe that the Æsir, the Gods of the Norsemen, the _Vikings_ , who practically _embodied_ the whole 'Rape! Pillage! Burn!' mindset, _you think_ _**they** will bring peace and equality to your realm?!_ _"_  
  
Taylor swallowed at this outburst, "No. But it'll be better than the way things are. Most of Africa, the Middle East, and South America are in some degree of anarchy, the CUI is the most stable country left in Asia and they're _genocidal_ , Western Europe is _just barely_ holding together, and its all for the same reason; capes. They can pop up anywhere, with any abilities, at any time, and it'll always be the most miserable, most likely-to-lash-out people who become them. Police and Militaries can't maintain peace, which means things get worse, which leads to _more_ angry capes. Its a vicious cycle and there's no way out. Now the only thing we have that works is the Protectorate, but they're spread thin. _Too_ thin to get nearly enough done with Endbringers around. I want to _change_ that.  
  
"With magic back in business we can start putting the pieces back together. Police-officers with enchanted gear to combat lesser villains would free up the Protectorate to face more dangerous villains head on, to focus on the Endbringers and find a way to stop them! Soldiers working with the same could be sent to restore order to countries that have fallen into chaos. Seers could predict where new villains are going to pop up, maybe even letting the authorities intervene before things get out of hand.  
  
"Capes have almost totally random powers, but with magic things are more _structured;_ an old magician can train a new magician _far_ more easily than an old cape could train a new cape. And-and, I just- I want to fix _everything_!" Taylor dropped her head into her hands, feeling exhausted.  
  
"You can't. You understand that, right?" Mímir looked tired, "You mentioned how magic introduces people with Power who can be more easily regulated. Now lets assume that's _true_ ; you also specifically mentioned the power and goals of the current Chinese Dynasty as one of the great problems you wanted fixed. They would very much benefit from a set-up like what you're proposing with magic. They would become even _stronger_."  
  
Taylor hadn't thought of that. She sniffled, and wiped a tear from her left eye, "What else can I do? What else can _anyone_ do? The Endbringers are wiping three cities off the map every year, there's the Sleeper in Russia, Ash Beast in Africa, Nilbog and the S9 in America and new ones pop up all the time. If _something_ doesn't change for the better than Mankind is _finished_. I don't know for _certain_ that Asgard will make things better, but they can't make things _worse_."  
  
"You are entirely confident of this?"  
  
Taylor was almost surprised to find that _yes_ , she was _completely_ certain, "Yes. yes, I am."  
  
"So nothing I can say will dissuade you?"  
  
Again, Taylor was almost surprised to find the answer to be yes, and her resolve hardened, "There's nothing you could say."  
  
Mímir harrumphed, "You know, I am not in the habit of having guests in my home whom refuse to debate me at all. Terribly rude behavior for a guest, if you ask me."  
  
Taylor's head shot up; her employer had trained her how to respond if someone tried to invoke guest right against her, and she quickly rattled off; "If I'm a guest, where's my wine? It would make a poor host to not offer a guest anything to drink."  
  
Mímir chuckled darkly, "Want something to drink, do you?" he turned to look at the Mímisbrunnr, " _That_ I can arrange."  
  
Wait, no. _Fuck_.


	6. Incision 1.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: By the way, I was serious about that Canon-Typical Violence thing.

This was bad. This was very bad. Why had she said anything so mindnumbingly _stupid!?_ Yes, she knew she had to do this sometime, but she _didn't want to do it **now!**_  
  
Taylor stared at the Mímisbrunnr in morbid fascination. There was something white floating in the water. Taylor didn't want to look at it, but she _couldn't look away_.  
  
It was an _ear_ , a bleached white _severed human ear_ was floating in the Well. Taylor felt her gorge rising. When she'd first spotted the floating object out of the corner of her eye, she had though it would be the Allfather's eye. Somehow, this was even more upsetting. If the Allfather wasn't the only person to sacrifice bits of themselves into this Well, then _how many were in there_?  
  
Taylor tried to run, but her legs wouldn't work. She _knew_ what she would have to do, it was the whole reason she'd come here, but the moment was here and she still _wasn't ready_. She tried to speak up, to back out, but no words came out. She just opened and closed her mouth like a fish.  
  
Why had she said anything? Mímir had fucking _forgotten_ they were going to do this, so _why_ the _fuck_ had she _said anything_?  
  
"As a _host_ , it would be oh so _terribly_ **rude** of me not to offer my guests anything to drink! Now of course, there are certain rules to receive a sip from _this_ brew, but I assure you that the price is _quite_ worthwhile! And besides, it would be oh so _terribly_ rude for a guest to refuse to drink from their host."  
  
She swallowed, "I-I...I'm-" Terror was building, as she screamed from her own mind to _run_ , but her legs _wouldn't move_!  
  
"Y _es..._?" he draw out the word like it was a fine wine. Oh god he was gloating. _Fuck him_ , he was _gloating_. Fuck you, Mímir. Fuck. You.  
  
Taylor swallowed again, "I- ...I'm not ready."

You have to do it regardless.

"Please, I _can't!"_

Yes you can. I know you can, and so do you. You are afraid, but fear is natural. Overcome it. Lives are at stake.

  
Taylor made a strangled sound in her throat, casting around for anything she could do. What if she-?  
  
She turned hopefully to Mímir, "What about Guest Right? As a guest, I shouldn't have to _pay_ to take a drink, right?"  
  
"Hehe ha! Clever!" Taylor's heart rose. "And _ordinarily_ you'd be right," And just as soon, her hope was dashed. It had to be pretty late by now, right? Maybe if before while they were talking she had just run out the clock to midnight she might have had to go home and try again next week instead. But she just had to go and _say_ something!  
  
"The Well of Knowledge is not some _beer barrel_ from which I can pour as much as I want and hand out as much as I please! _Everyone_ must pay a toll to walk this bridge, no matter _what_. Even I had to pay, quite dearly in fact, for the right to drink as much as I do."  
  
Taylor looked down at the severed head and caught his implication, "But, wait, I thought you lost your body in the War against the Vanir?"  
  
He chuckled, "And indeed I did."  
  
"But, wait, then-?"  
  
" _You_ ," he interrupted, "are _changing_ the _subject_."  
  
She was.  
  
"I don't want to do this. I don't want to cut out my _eye_. Not yet," not _ever_ , preferably, but she'd accept just putting it off indefinitely.  
  
"You don't have much choice. You intend to impersonate the Allfather to achieve your goals? Then you're going to need to cut out your eye. Right here. Right now."  
  
Taylor gulped, and turned to the Well again. There was a stone knife sitting on the edge. It hadn't been there a moment before. Taylor reached towards it with shaking hands, and then froze.  
  
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. In, and out. In, and out. In, and out.  
  
She opened her eyes and took the knife in her right hand. She hand the flat of the blade up to her face and just stared at it. Savoring depth perception.  
  
Which eye to loose? Taylor had already decided. Taylor wore glasses, and like most people with glasses her prescription was different for each eye. Her right needed the stronger prescription, so it was the obvious one to loose.  
  
' _To think, a decision which will follow me for the rest of my life; made over something so minor._ '  
  
Taylor breathed, and positioned the knife to begin. She breathed. She _could_ have just apologized for being a rude guest, but _no-oo_! Had to _defend_ herself.  
  
"Do try to keep it as intact as possible."  
  
Right. She breathed.  
  
Taylor was nervous, but... No. No, she had to do this. She _would_ do this. By doing this, she was going to be able to _save lives_. Her face hardened. That nervousness can _fuck right off_. Taylor was doing this.  
  
Taylor, moving slowly, and without the slightest tremor, began to push the knife into her eyesocket. Through the lid and above the ball. The pain was horrible, but she ignored it. The knife went deeper, and it scraped against her skull, squeezing her eyeball as she carefully tried to keep it intact.  
  
The pain was excruciating, but Taylor's mind was elsewhere.  
  
She began cutting around the sides, counterclockwise, her eyelid being shorn off along the way.  
  
She could feel, multiple times, the knife accidentally cutting off millimeter slices of the eyeball itself. The first two times when this happened, she slid the knife backwards to try and leave the sliced bit attached. But the second time, while backtracking she cut off a different tiny slice of eyeball. After that she resolved to just try and keep these slices as small as possible.  
  
The pain was indescribable, but Taylor was cold in the face of her own suffering.  
  
She made it all the way around.  
  
But she wasn't _done_ yet. Someone was screaming.  
  
If it was her, it wasn't effecting the stability of her cutting. She ignored it as irrelevant.  
  
She slid the knife back behind her eyeball, squishing it up and out of its socket, but it was still _connected_. She wiggled the knife in annoyance and-  
  
_Ploop_.  
  
She withdrew the knife from her face and looked down at the water of the Mímisbrunnr. Her own eye was staring up at her. Within a small, but slowly spreading, cloud of her own blood. A drop of blood hit the surface. Ah, yes, she was bleeding. Not important right now.  
  
"Earlier, I didn't call you a sissy out loud, but I was thinking it. I take it back."  
  
Taylor looked at the head.  
  
The whole world seemed like it was tilting.  
  
Mímir cleared his throat, "Right, well, you may now take a single drink from the Well of Knowledge. But no more!"  
  
Taylor nodded, feeling numb. She walked further from where her eyeball was floating, and stooped down.  
  
Her eye was following her all the way.  
  
Using her hands for stability, she brought her head down to the water, and drank deeply.

-̯̭͉̖͊ͥ͒ͬ̅͑-̘̗͇̹͉͊̂͋ͥ͂ͫ͡-̟̱̮̈͠-̻͇͚̮͓̫̦͌-͂ͧ҉̤̺̜͔̮-̨̮̦̂̌̓̃-̲̻͖̤̥̠͌ͯͦ̊̒́-͈̹͛-͎̫̘ͣ͗͗̊-҉̺͎̦̪-̤̱̬̰̭̭̿̂̏̓ͦ-̬̣̼ͫ̑͆-̷͔̮̆ͅ-͕ͬ̌-̣-͉͇̝͎̖̺ͧ͋͊̊̆̏-̖̼͉̳ͬͪ̍̃̚͝ͅ-̢̠͉̜̫̲̆ͅ-̩̝͚̲͎ͤ͋͛́-̤̺̘̖̠͂͆̈ͫ̎ͭ͜ͅ-̹̱̤͔̪̝̩́̅͠-̧̫̥̰̫͇-̠ͥ̾̈ͅ-͔̣͕̯̦̝-͚̦̮̋̑-͍̣̞͈̠͒͋̔ͬ̽-͈͗

She burst back from the Well, and fell to the ground. It was in her _head!_ She could _see_ , she could _SEE!_  
  
Everything _hurt_ because the onslaught of information had disrupted her concentration, bring her many wounds back to focu- _errgghh_ , ARHHHHHHH!  
  
She couldn't make the pain _go away_ without first focusing her mind. She was here in spirit, but not in body. Physical pain was only an illusion h- GGRRAAAAAAKGGGGHHHH!  
  
She tried to focus, _its only an illusion, **its only an illusion, ITS ONLY AN ILLUSION!**_  
  
Most of her pain vanished but not the intense spike of agony in her mind because the onslaught of knowledge is very _real_ in her own mind. As a mortal, it would have to be packed away and meditated on later.  
  
And in the very moment that Taylor realized she already _knew_ how to do that, she _did_.  
  
She stood to her feet on shaking- _**No**_. The pain isn't _real_. My body isn't even _here_ to _be_ hurt!  
  
Her stance became firm. Better.

Very nice. You did quite well.

"Thank you, sir," She turned to where Mímir had indicated her employer had been sitting earlier and for a brief moment, she saw a shadowy figure. Before she could get a clearer look, the figure sort of... _slid_ out of view.

Very well done. We'll be working together to help you understand your new knowledge.

"Tha-" She breathed. "Thank you." Her eye was still gone.  
  
Not _gone_. It was still in the _Well_. Either way.  
  
Speaking of, she turned to Mímir to thank him for his help and _s͖͎ͭ͛̇̃̆͟h̙̳͚͚̩͔̙̓̾͋e͙ ̴͖̹̥̖̰̦̞̅s͉̜̩ͦǎ̻̺̮̟͎̺w͈̺̻̄͋̃ͮͩͅ-̉͒̎̏͏_

* * *

She awoke with a jolt on the grassy ground. She looked around and the first thing she noticed was that _holy shit, her eye was back!_ How is that even _possible?_ She could still taste the Waters of Knowledge on her tongue, why was her eye back? She didn't care, she was just happy to _have it back, yes!_  
  
She was in front of the Ash tree, but it was night now. She sat up and _ow!_  
  
The cuts from all the ravens hadn't been real at the Mímisbrunnr, but they were certainly real _now_. Still, her _eye_ was fucking _back!_ Being covered in scabs was worth it.  
  
Amazing how you only really appreciate having something after you've lost it for a while.  
  
Taylor stood carefully to her feet, and looked around again. Was she going to have to walk home? That would be-  
  
Her vision was suddenly filled with _black_.  
  
_"Caw!"_  
  
A beak descended hard on the right side of her face.  
  
Her screaming could be heard for _blocks_. This time, the pain was no illusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Happy Wednesday, everybody!


	7. Lindisfarne 2.1

The right side of Taylor's face was a ruin. Blood from her right eye socket had run down to cover all beneath it, matting her hair and staining her shirt. There were minor cuts running all around, all scabbed over, though some of the scabs had burst.  
  
But besides those minor details, Taylor thought she looked serene. The nurse was carefully washing her sleeping face of blood and- _"Wait a minute, what the fuck!"_  
  
Taylor was standing in a filthy, worn down room in what looked to be fairly run down building. There were holes in the walls, wallpaper that looked to have been put up when her parents were kids, and no furniture save a single mattress at her feet. And, lying on the ratty mattress at her feet was _herself_.  
  
"Oh no, oh no. No. I... _can't_ be _dead_. Not again, its, I'm _alive_ , not..."  
  
On the mattress Taylor's head turned towards herself. Her eye was open, and it burned in blue fire. "But Taylor, if you're alive, then why aren't you in your body?"

* * *

Taylor was standing in a sunny meadow. Quickly looking around, she saw a man and a woman having a picnic mere yards away.  
  
"Oh, thank goodness, ma'am! can you help me!"  
  
Neither person tuned to look at her, and Taylor's stomach dropped. _Please just be deaf, I don't want to be dead, please be deaf, please be deaf_.  
  
As she drew closer, the man turned around, "Oh! _There_ you are!"  
  
Taylor could immediately tell he wasn't looking at her, and sure enough, when Taylor looked behind herself there was a little girl.  
  
"Are you ready to go home?" The girl shook her head, giggling.  
  
Taylor's heart panged during the comfortable exchange, which ended with the girl running back into the grass and her, presumably, father sitting down with a smile on his face.  
  
_Is this my afterlife? No halls, no elves, or realms of mist, just wandering around the earth as a petty ghost?_  
  
Taylor decided to follow the girl. She'd run in an essentially straight line, and Taylor soon found her kneeling over a rabbit-hole in the grass.  
  
"-and that's why I'm really _really_ sorry! Can you forgive me?"  
  
The hole didn't say anything, but the girl seemed to pretend it had, "That's fair!" She reached into her pockets and extracted three greasy strips of bacon, which she threw into the hole. "There you go! Now we're even!" The little girl stood up, turned, and looked Taylor right in the eye, "Oh, hi! Are you one of Santa's helpers?"

* * *

  
  
The forest was dark, the trees were old and tall. Snow was thick on the ground. And two men, each looking half dead and frozen to the bone, were running through with terror in their eyes.  
  
There was an awful crunching, ripping sound, and Taylor whipped around to see tree-trunks flying in the distance. Up above in the canopy she saw the lights of a house suspended in the branches.  
  
There was another terrible crash, and the house drew closer, swiveling to face Taylor.

* * *

Taylor stood on the slopes of a snowed mountain.  
  
"That's getting old."  
  
Down bellow her stretched a valley, picturesque in its beauty. Far bellow her, on the slopes, she could make out a small collection of huts, perhaps a skiing lodge, and even further downhill there were the lights of a town, nestled amongst the mountains as if it were the nest of some great bird.  
  
In the sky, there was a shining city of diamonds. Tall spires stretched down from the sky. It was vast, and beautiful.  
  
Down bellow, on a nearby mountain, an avalanche was gaining steam. And of course, it was headed for the lodge.  
  
"Oh no," above her, the spires shifted, and danced, shinning and still. They were closer now. "How can I help? How can-"  
  
"Don't be foolish," Taylor started at the unexpected voice, and whipped around. It was herself. Two of herself, in fact. "We have more pressing problems." The Other Taylor in the front stood tall and stone faced, her missing eye trailed thin streams of blood down her face like tears, but otherwise she looked clean and presentable. In the back and to the left was the third Taylor. She was filthy, her clothes torn. But she was smiling, and she had a wide, manic look in her eyes.  
  
_Two of me, plus me, makes three_.  
  
"What do you mean _more pressing_ , there are people down there!"  
  
Her foremost doppelganger simply pointed.  
  
From the city, disgorged an army of shinning, gilded warriors. They charged down from the spinning, crystal spirals, and they stepped before the avalanche. Where the snow touched them, it vanished.  
  
"What are they?" she breathed.  
  
The third Taylor, who'd remained silent till now, giggled. "That's a silly question. They're _avalanche fighters_ , obviously."  
  
Taylor would have glared at her-third-self if she wasn't enraptured by the lockstep march of a luminous army battling the snow. "But where did they come from?"  
  
"The sky!"/"That's not relevant to the discussion at hand."  
  
She turned and looked at the other two Taylors again. "And what _is_ relevant?" a thought occurred "Wait, you're not my, ah, _employer_ , are you?"  
  
The second Taylor snorted, "Not remotely. I'm _you_. And so is she," she pointed her thumb at the third, smiling Taylor, who still had both her eyes for some completely unfair reason, "Or, most of the way, at least."  
  
Taylor, the first one, nodded, "Right, so the problem _you_ care about is that this," she waved her arms at their weird trio, "isn't normal. And, presumably, we need to fix that."  
  
"That's a fair summation, yes."  
  
"So what's the solution?"  
  
The second Taylor shrugged, breaking her stoic pose for the first time. "'Stop hallucinating', would be a nice start.

* * *

"GhhH _HHH_ ** _A!"_**  
  
Taylor lurched forwards from a supine position, desperate for air.  
  
"Whoa!" someone caught her, and Taylor thrashed against them, but the arms were steady. "Easy, easy, you're safe now, I've got you, you're safe."  
  
"S-Safe?" Taylor couldn't think right. Everything, hurt. She'd thought she might be dead, but she knew death didn't hurt like this.  
  
"Yes, you're safe, I've got you, you're safe, the empire can't find you here, you're safe," the woman's voice was soothing as she cycled through the reassurances.  
  
Safe. Right. No more visions, probably. Its real now. Safe.


	8. Lindisfarne 2.2

Taylor felt safe, held in the arms of a woman she didn't even know. It was comforting, in that moment Taylor knew that there was at least one person in the world who cared about her, and her well being. It had been a long time, but it was a good feeling.  
  
After too short a time, the woman asked her "Are you ready to get up?"  
  
Taylor nodded, even though she wasn't. The woman drew back, and Taylor immediately felt lessened by it.  
  
The woman stood from her position kneeling beside Taylor's ratty mattress and held her hand down to help Taylor up. Taylor accepted the hand and, rising, felt a feeling of vertigo overcome her. "Easy!" the woman caught Taylor at her opposite shoulder before she could begin to tumble, "That's it, I've got you."  
  
"Th-Thank you," Taylor began to feel the vertigo passing. She could feel bandages under her clothes, presumably for the worse of the cuts. Wrapped around her head, she could feel a large bandage for... you know. "What's your name?"  
  
"Dr Mochado," she drew back from Taylor, still ready to catch her if she fell, "Doctor Adelita Mochado. You can call me whatever you like."  
  
Taylor grinned hesitantly, "Thank you, doctor. I-" Taylor's voice died in her throat.  
  
The doctor smiled reassuringly, "You don't need to tell me your name, sweetie. Come on, lets get you to the kitchen, see if I can find something for you to eat. Is there someone I can call?"  
  
Taylor nodded, "My dad."  
  
"Good. The phone's in the kitchen too," she stepped backwards from Taylor towards the door. She moved slowly, keeping on Taylor's left side, sweeping smaller obstacles on the floor to either side with her feet as she approached the door.  
  
Slowly, methodically, she guided Taylor out the room, and into a tiny kitchen with only two other doors. Everything in this room was worn, and old. The ancient rusted stove, the sink stacked with dishes, the stained and cluttered little table, surrounded by three folding chairs, two with their own piles of accumulated junk. The walls had accumulated holes, and badly peeling paper. The floor was filthy, and covered in little piles of built up junk, pushed aside from the walking areas.  
  
It was a room that belonged to someone who was very poor. Not just in money, but in time. This room belonged to someone who had no time for themselves, and yet the doctor had brought Taylor into her home, tended her wounds, let her sleep on what was surely the doctor's own bed, and now was planning to share with Taylor her own food.  
  
It was a lot. It was too much.  
  
Taylor turned, her eye watering, "Thank you! Thank you, just, for everything you've done to help me. I-I'll pay you back! I promise!"  
  
The doctor smiled, "Don't worry about paying me back. You don't owe me anything."  
  
"My name is Taylor," it felt good to introduce herself, relieving, "Taylor Hebert."  
  
"It's very nice to meet you, Taylor, I'm Adelita." She offered Taylor the one open chair and her cellphone to call her father.  
  
Taylor was pretty sure that the doctor didn't see her flinch when she offered Taylor the cellphone.  
  
The call with her father was short. He picked up on the first ring, Taylor was certain he'd been waiting by the phone which made her feel a bit guilty, but not as guilty as she felt when she told her father that she was fine. She told her father that she'd fallen and hit her head, but that a nice doctor had offered to look her over free of charge, which was very nice of her. Taylor noticed Adelita looking at her when she claimed to have fallen out of a tree, and she was _definitely_ looking at Taylor when she claimed that she was completely fine.  
  
Taylor had to ask the doctor for the address they were at, and after she told her dad he said that he'd be there in a half hour, told her that he loved her, and hung up.  
  
Taylor handed Adelita her phone back, "Thank you, doctor. Dad said he'd be here in half an hour."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Taylor... you know that you were hurt very seriously, right?"  
  
Taylor felt her throat go dry, "Yes. I know."  
  
The doctor nodded, "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
Taylor did not.  
  
"Alright then. Well, while you were on the phone with your father, I found some instant oatmeal with little sugar dinosaurs in it in the cupboard. Is that Kosher?"  
  
"Oh, uh, yeah, oatmeal's fine, yes, thank you."  
  
Adelita smiled again, Taylor wasn't sure if the doctor was genuinely just this happy of a person, or if she was deliberately trying to put Taylor at ease. "Fantastic. I'll just throw it in the microwave."  
  
In a few minutes Adelita returned on Taylor's left side and gave Taylor a bowl of oatmeal which just barely fit on the cluttered table in front of her.  
  
"Thank you," Taylor hadn't really realized how hungry she was until she saw the food in front of her, and she practically inhaled it.  
  
There was another pause.  
  
"Taylor," Adelita started, "when you go home, are you going to be safe there?"  
  
Taylor went still, "What, you mean, do I think anyone's looking for me?"  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Taylor shook her head, "No." She wasn't really sure what Doctor Adelita thought had happened, but she clearly thought Taylor was the victim of some sort of crime. Which actually raised a question, "When you found me, why not take me to the hospital? Why here?"  
  
"I didn't know if they were looking for you. If they were, the hospital wouldn't be safe, and the police might not be either. Also, I wasn't sure if you could afford a hospital stay. Just someone calling an ambulance for you can cost you hundreds of dollars."  
  
Taylor nodded, "Thanks. And, no, I wouldn't have been able to afford a hospital stay."  
  
"I'm happy to help you Taylor. Although, you should know that I wasn't the one who found you."  
  
Taylor looked up, "Who did?"  
  
Adelita smiled, "My next door neighbor. They knew I was a doctor, so they called me."  
  
"Well, can you thank them for me too?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
The silence was comfortable, but Taylor's mind wandered to uncomfortable places. She remembered yesterday, the Raven. It had been so friendly, so innocent. It had _trusted_ her. It had put its trust in Taylor's hands, and what had she done? She'd _betrayed_ it.  
  
_Just like Emma_.  
  
"Taylor, Taylor, don't cry," Adelita's soothing voice pulled Taylor out of her brooding.  
  
"S-sorry," she wiped at her eye with her sleeve, but she got more dirt on her face than tears off it, and the feel of the bandage on the other side reminded her of her sacrifice.  
  
"Don't be sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for. Do you want a hug?" Taylor nodded.  
  
The hug felt good. It was peaceful. Not much in Taylor's life was peaceful.  
  
Her father arrived not long after. Or maybe it was a very long time after. Taylor was still tightly holding onto Doctor Adelita, so it can't have been _that_ long, right?  
  
When Taylor let her go, Adelita went to check the peephole of her front door. She frowned, presumably because she didn't recognize him either way. "Who are you?"  
  
Her father shouted his name, and Adelita turned to Taylor, "That him?" Taylor nodded, and she opened the door.  
  
Her father rushed in and, seeing Taylor immediately, shouted her name and pulled her into an embrace. After a moment he let her go, and thanked Adelita.  
  
"It was no trouble, I'm always happy to help. Taylor, you're welcome to come back here any time you think you need to. Come back again tomorrow or the day after any time before 10am, and I can get those bandages replaced."  
  
He thanked her again, and began trying to hustle Taylor out the door, "Goodby, Doctor Adelita, thank you so much for helping me. I promise, I'm _going_ to find a way to repay you for your hospitality."  
  
"Oh, Taylor, you don't have to do that."  


Yes she does.


	9. Lindisfarne 2.3

Just outside the car, Taylor's father stopped her, turned her around and looked into her eye.  
  
"Dad, what-"  
  
Quietly, he asked her for her name.  
  
"What? Why are you-"  
  
He, again, asked for her name, her _full_ name this time.  
  
"Taylor Anne Hebert."  
  
He asked her who he was.  
  
"You're my Dad, Daniel Hebert."  
  
He asked her to recite a tongue twister, although needed three tries to properly go through the one he wanted.  
  
Taylor rolled her eye, "Sally sells sea shells by the sea shore," that was all he'd wanted, but Taylor was vaguely annoyed and decided to show off "She sells seashells on the seashell shore, the seashells she sells are seashore shells, of that I'm sure. Are you satisfied that I don't have a concussion?"  
  
He said he was, and stepped back, waving to get into the car.  
  
They sat, buckled in, pulled out, and had even left the second red light all in complete silence. Taylor was mentally concocting a web of lies to buy herself as much time as possible. Meanwhile, her father appeared stone faced.  
  
The night was dark, as dark at it gets in a city. Taylor didn't know exactly what time it was, the car's dashboard clock had been broken for months, but it _had_ to be well after midnight.  
  
As they pulled into the third red light, her father spoke up, asking her to describe the events of the day as best she could.  
  
Obviously, Taylor wasn't going to do that, "I was climbing a tree, branch to branch, and everything was _fine_. I was very careful, I tested the weights of branches before I climbed onto them, I checked to make sure my footing and grip were good, I did _everything_ right."  
  
Her father, sounding unimpressed, asked why she fell.  
  
"It wasn't my fault! The bark on one of the branches was loose, it seemed perfectly fine when I checked it, but once I put weight on it it slid out from under me! How was I supposed to know that would happen?!" The indignation over being accused of something that was clearly her own fault was a key part of the lie. Her father would catch that she was trying to minimize her own responsibility for the fall, and therefor he would be less likely to question the basic premise _that_ she fell.  
  
He asked about the woman.  
  
"Her _name_ is _Doctor Mochado_ ," Taylor was actually genuinely annoyed at that one; she _liked_ Doctor Adelita. She was still playing up the offense a bit, but _much_ less than before.  
  
He asked again, this time using Doctor Mochado's name.  
  
Taylor took a big, exaggerated-but-not- _too_ -exaggerated breath, "She was passing by not long after I fell, and she offered to help, saying she was a doctor. I told her that we couldn't afford a hospital trip," Taylor's father winced, "and she offered to do it herself for free."  
  
He asked if she was passing on foot, incredulous.  
  
" _Yes_ , on foot! I don't think she can even _afford_ a car, there certainly weren't more then two or three in front of her whole housing complex. In the middle of the night, no less!"  
  
Her father muttered for a few moments, mentally doing the math for a walk from Doctor Mochado's residence to Brockton General. Taylor didn't need to hold her breath for her father to finish, she knew what part of town this was now and she'd done the math before she'd referred to Adelita traveling on foot. Six miles. Not _nothing_ , but also not a particularly noteworthy distance to walk for work, in this city.  
  
It also meant that, factoring in countless potential alternate routes, it would be next to impossible for her father to track down the tree she fell from. Which was good because, obviously, it didn't exist.  
  
Her father, having accepted that part of her story, at least for now, asked after her injuries in specific.  
  
Taylor shrugged, ignoring the hideous pain she was in, "Its not too bad. The only one that even really hurts anymore is _this_ one," she indicated a spot under her shirt where one of the bandages was. It hurt so badly Taylor had to catch herself from the absurd worry if she even had skin in that spot, "Its only really a dull pain now, it only flares up when I bump it. The doctor said it would calm down in a day or so," she'd said nothing of the sort.  
  
Her father made a vaguely accepting sound, and, gesturing while keeping his eyes on the road, asked about the most obvious bandage.  
  
"Oh, this?" asked Taylor nonchalantly, pointing at the bandage that was firmly in place to cover her gaping eye-socket, "I got a cut along my eyebrow. Doctor Mochando said that its nothing serious, but the bandage keeps the little bit of blood from dripping into my eye, and she also said that if I don't keep the bandage on it could leave a scar, and I... don't... want that."  
  
Her father snorted in amusement at Taylor's feigned vanity, slightly mollified. He asked how her eye was.  
  
_There's a gaping hole in my skull made of agony and pain, but don't worry I got to drink from a magic well in exchange!_ "Fine. My eyelashes are pressed up against the bandage, so it feels _really_ weird whenever I blink."  
  
Her father muttered that she deserved it for frightening him. Then, louder, he asked her if she understood how lucky she was that she still had her eye.  
  
"I understand," _I do, technically, still have my eye. Its the **other** eye that's not mine anymore._  
  
Her father asked her to clarify that the only thing that had happened to stop her from getting home on time was her falling out of the tree.  
  
"Yes, nothing else."  
  
He clarified that she'd never lost consciousness, or fall asleep.  
  
"No, not once."  
  
They came into a red light, and her father turned to look at her directly with his full attention. Then he asked her why it had taken so many hours to call him after falling out of the tree.  
  
_Oh **shit** , he's on to me_.  
  
He stated that she fell out of the tree at night, and then he asked her again why she'd been out at night.  
  
_Oh fuck, I don't have anything_.

Tell him you did it to impress a boy.

"It was a boy!"  
  
Her father repeated the phrase as if he was having trouble parsing it.

You and a large group of friends were hanging out and you forgot to check the clock.

"I did it too impress a _boy_. I was hanging out with him and a bunch of friends after school, and I lost track of time."  
  
Her father was still confused, but with dawning indignation at his daughter getting hurt chasing after some _boy_.  
  
Taylor was getting the hang of this new kind of lie, "Yes, a _boy_ , Dad! I'm a teenager! Teenagers date all the time! He's smart, and funny, and-"  
  
Her father cut her off, asking for the boy's name.  
  
This lie was already very much not Taylor's style, but if Taylor _had_ been making up this lie by herself, this is where she'd have been caught for sure. She wouldn't have been able to come up with a convincing name fast enough, not fast enough to fool her father, and on a gut level her father was very aware of that.

Richard.

"His name is _Richard_ , Dad! And I'm frankly _insulted_ that you think I'd have a crush on a guy without even knowing his name!"

Her father muttered, apparently annoyed at the name itself. Taylor assumed that he used to know someone named Richard and hated them. Then, he told Taylor that he didn't want her to spend time around Richard anymore.

Don't cave, that's suspicious. Get offended.

"WHAT! Dad, Richard's a great guy! He's nice, he's good-looking, he's compassionate-!"  
  
Again, Taylor's father cut her off from describing Richard's hypothetical good traits, which was good because Taylor was running out of plausible-sounding positive adjectives to describe a boy.  
  
Her father angrily asked her why Richard hadn't stayed with her after she got hurt, if he was so compassionate.

Say he had to take care of his grandmother, but make it sound less plausible.

"He had to meet up with his _grandmother_ at the _nursing home_ , Dad! She's in Chemo, and he can only talk to her in person a few hours a month!"  
  
Her father rolled his eyes and seemed to be about to shout, when someone behind them honked. The light was green.  
  
After a few more moments, her father quietly revealed that he knew she'd skipped school today, and through gritted teeth reiterated his demand that she not spend time around Richard anymore.

Get angrier. Shout that you're your own person and you can do what you want to.

"YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I'm my _own_ person, and I can make my _own_ decisions!" Taylor felt like she was maybe getting too into this performance, but she somehow felt like she couldn't stop, "Who are _you_ to decide what _I_ do with _my_ time!?"  
  
This served as more than sufficient basis to keep the argument going for the rest of the drive.


	10. Lindisfarne 2.4

Taylor lay in her bed, staring upwards at her ceiling. _I'm only half as good at that as I used to be_ , she mused darkly.  
  
The midday sun was streaming through her window, and indeed it was what had woken her in the first place. _I must be missing school right now_.  
  
Her thoughts were chasing themselves around in circles as she repeatedly asked herself the same thing, "Why did I _do_ that?"  
  
It was a good question. What on _earth_ could she have been thinking that convinced her that lying to her father about her _missing eye_ was a good idea? How in nine realms did she ever possibly think that was a sustainable lie? What the fuck was supposed to be the followup? _Dad, Richard thinks eyepatches are sexy!_

That could work.

She ignored him, "What's _wrong_ with me?" Was her relationship with her father really _that_ broken that she'd rather have an hour long screaming match with him about _nothing_ rather than a frank conversation? She wouldn't have even needed to tell her father about anything she was doing, she had a veritable _cornucopia_ of alternative excuses for the lost eye. A branch stuck it out when she fell from the tree, she was attacked by Nazis but Doctor Adelita's friends saved her, she was attacked by a bird, _which was even **true**!_  
  
What the fuck, Taylor? Shouldn't she _know_ better? And speaking of, "Why is it that after drinking from the Well of Wisdom, I can still immediately make an almost _comically_ foolish decision regarding how and about what to deceive my father?"

Well, for one thing, drinking from the Mímisbrunnr doesn't physically _stop_ you from doing things that are foolish. Rather, it makes you wise enough to _recognize_ them as foolish. But if one was pinhead enough to ignore their own wisdom, they could still easily do so.

Taylor took a deep breath as she glared daggers at the ceiling, growling "If you're just going to insult me-"

Calm down, calm down, I'm just being pedantic. I still haven't answered your actual question yet. The reason _you_ were still capable of complete foolishness is because, as you may recall, you magically locked the Wisdom into the back of your mind, something you somewhat ironically did using magical knowledge you had temporarily gained _from_ that Wisdom.

Taylor did remember something about that, now that her employer mentioned it. It was a bit overshadowed in her memory by the experience of cutting out her own eye with a knife, but she did seem to remember that part too. Still, "Okay, new question. Why on Earth would I do that?"

Well, I wasn't privy to your _exact_ reasoning, but I would assume that your base motivation for locking up access to the divine Foresight that was floating around your head was because you used your then-powers of divine Foresight to predict that the incredible power of divine Foresight could potentially melt your decidedly mortal brain out your ears.

On reflection, Taylor could remember something about that too.  
  
She groaned and swung her legs over the side of her bed, sitting up. Everything throbbed with discomfort. Her body seemed to have given up on screaming at her about her bad life decisions and had moved on to passive aggression. That _was_ an improvement, but it still really hurt to move. What Taylor _really_ wanted to do was lie back down and hide in her blankets forever, but she was pretty sure that if she didn't eat something then that would just add to the list of her bad life choices.  
  
That didn't mean she couldn't put off actually standing up for a while. Taylor started picking at the left sleeve of her nightgown, which had gotten bunched up on a bandage on her upper arm. "So, would you care to tell me why you didn't think to mention that my brain leaking out my ears was a significant risk ahead of time?"

I knew you'd be able to resolve it yourself, and the experience of having to preform magic while under enormous mental strain was an important learning experience. That's going to come up a lot in your line of work. Ideally, we'd want you to get to the point where it doesn't even slow you down, but for a first try yesterday was very good.

That wasn't terribly comforting, so Taylor put it out of her mind. She'd already made her decisions, there would be time for handwringing when she was dead.  
  
Taylor finished straightening out her sleeves and, carefully, stood up. It was... _okay_. It hurt, but not too much more than sitting. She sighed, "This is as good as its going to get, isn't it."  
  
It was a long walk to the stairs and down. Taylor's movements were awkward and stiff, as she tried not to pull on any of the bandages and scabs that were scattered over her body. The depth perception issue didn't help.  
  
Taylor had to take a break by the time she got to the bottom of the stairs. No falls, so Taylor was willing to call it a success, but still. "Why is it that moving around is harder _today_ , when I've already started healing, than it was _yesterday_ , when I hadn't yet?"

Kids these days, no patience! Why, back in _my_ day-

"Yesterday?" she quipped.

-kids knew how to wait around for things! Why, sometimes they could just sit in a room and wait around for _days_ , with nothing but smallpox, and they _liked it!_

  
Taylor snorted, and suppressed a grin, "Alright, alright, I'll cheer up. How much longer should this be, though?"

Not too long, if you listen to your doctor. It three days, counting today, you should be able to fake being completely fine, and three days after that you will be.

  
_Apart from the eye_ , went without saying. "What about infection?"

Stay clean, use disinfectant, listen to your doctor. Lets be frank, Taylor, you have divine favor. Unless you do something very foolish, I wouldn't be too worried about base sickness being the thing that takes you down.

  
"Right, then," Taylor pushed herself off the wall and started towards the kitchen, "Time for food."

One might ask why you feel the need to get it yourself.

"What do you mean?"  
  
As if in answer, Taylor then spotted her father asleep on the couch.  
  
"Oh," she tried to move more quietly as she made her way to the kitchen to throw a bowl of cereal together.  
  
Taylor just _knew_ that her dress was sweeping up all kind of dirt as it dragged across the floor. It usually wouldn't have been a problem, but usually she was standing up straighter than this. She glanced up at her father again while she was pouring the milk, "I wonder why he's staying home from work?"

... Guess.

Taylor put the milk back in the fridge, "I... suppose he's worried I'd run off to see Richard?"

... Yes. That's _exactly_ why he'd want to stay home after yesterday.

Taylor brought her food up to her room. She normally wouldn't do that, but for all that the argument last night was staged, she still didn't want to talk to her father after it. She was still kind of upset, for some reason.  


* * *

  
  
Taylor finished her breakfast at her desk upstairs. "So, what's on the agenda today?"

Considering your current condition, you won't be doing any physical exercise today. Instead, we're going to be preforming mental exercises.

"Alright, more magical theory, then?"

No, today we're moving on to _practice_.

Taylor felt the thrill of anticipation, mixed with a rush of dread. This is what she'd been building up to with all the theory, which is also why she knew how dangerous it was, "A-Alright. S-start with the meditation then?"

Correct.

Taylor walked over to her bed and climbed on top of her rumpled sheets, wincing at the discomfort of moving. She lay flat on the bed, closed her eyes - _eye-_ , and folded her hands over her stomach. There were countless things people could do to meditate, and much as some would disagree, none of them were the most correct. If one puts themselves into the mindset of prayer, they will find that they are praying, regardless of what their body is doing in the meanwhile. So too with meditation.  
  
Taylor felt all of her aches and pains, and she worked to dismiss them, one after the other. They were irrelevant, offering no new information. A pointless distraction for the sewn together energy beings who were her true form.  
  
The trick would be getting herself to _believe_ that.  
  
An hour passed. Two. Taylor took no note of this as she worked to disassociate from the outside world. This level of detachment was no kind of necessary for any truly experienced spell weaver, but Taylor was a pure novice. She needed the boost a complete lack of outside perspective could give her.  
  
She knew all of that already, and had even done this before, but she had gone no farther. That was practice, this was the real thing. Except, no, what she had done before was merely _practice_ for the practice, which she would begin soon. Or never. Time wasn't meaningless, but it wasn't her problem.  
  
Another hour passed, and Taylor _actually_ didn't notice this time.  
  
A soothing voice echoed from nowhere when before there was only her thoughts.

Well done, Taylor. You're ready.

Taylor endeavored to express both glee at the praise and steady anticipation of her next task. Without voice or sensory organs of any kind, she wasn't really sure if she'd succeeded, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

Now, look. Right. _Here_.

And Taylor _saw_. She could see the web of fate, like an immense loom that spun with threads made of gold. Except it wasn't _gold_ , it was purest _sunlight_. If sunlight was made out of _snakes_. Snakes forged out of _shining gold_.

I see that I'm going to have to give you a moment before the next part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story, there was an earlier draft of this chapter where Taylor was wearing footie pajamas. I was forced to sadly scrap that when I realized that I couldn't provide an adequate answer to the question of when she would have purchased them. I don't see her buying something like that after the bullying started, and if she purchased the footie pajamas before the bullying started she would have grown out of them by now. The things I do for realism.


	11. Lindisfarne 2.5

Shimmering shoals of silver salmon swam in spaceless swirling spirals in threads before her eye-

Drat, we were just one more S word away from a free sandwich.

The snarky comment snapped Taylor out of her trance and she suddenly remembered that she had an audience. She had no face or form at all, but she still felt like she was glowing with embarrassment.

You sort of _are_ , but that's not important right now.

  
Taylor felt that her glowing sense of chagrin _was_ important, but was _very_ happy to have the subject change away from it.

Observe.

Before Taylor's gaze, except not _gaze_ because she had no sight, her employer caught one of the strands between two fingers. With a hand at Taylor's back, except with no hand and no back, he guided her in on the thread, and it seemed to open up before her the history of a single branch growing on a larger branch that was beyond her sight.  
  
It wasn't long, the branch wasn't very large, but guided by her mentor she saw it all. From when it first began to grow at the beginning of the previous summer, sprouting many leaves and growing quickly in a good position for sunlight, it had been a healthy little branch. Taylor watched it grow heavy, and strained. Taylor watched its leaves fall in the autumn as its tree prepared for dormancy. She saw a cold snap weaken it further, and was saddened, feeling an irrational sympathy for the branch.  
  
Then the sight, though naturally it wasn't _sight_ , grew murkier. She saw the branch grow, or perhaps not, she saw it break in several different spots as several different times for several different reasons. She had difficulty holding the images apart and instead they seamed to blur together in an unending break and fall.

This branch is going to fall. That is unavoidable. How and when it does that is still undetermined. _I_ am now going to choose.

In his hands he drew forth spools of thread from nowhere, and upon the thread of the branch he began to rapidly weave a brilliant tapestry spelling out the branch's future. Except, there was no tapestry and no one was weaving. See?  
  
In moments the masterpiece was complete, spelling out in beautiful, four dimensional detail the exact place the branch would break, the exact way the branch would fall, and the exact time this would all happen. The subject matter was mundane, but the medium, "Its beautiful," Taylor did not speak, for she had no mouth.

Thank you. Now-

He gripped a single hanging thread that had blended so perfectly with the masterpiece that Taylor had not seen it before, and with a single tug the entire thing became undone. Taylor had a jolt of distress at such a work being destroyed, but she suppressed the feeling. This was class time.  
  
He gathered up the loose thread, and gave one end to Taylor.

You've just seen me decide the fate of this branch. Now, you do the same; make it fall.

Taylor expressed a response in the affirmative, despite how apprehensive she was feeling. She moved to the line of hanging thread that represented the branch's future, and she began drape her borrowed thread.  
  
Where her employer had woven a beautiful and sprawling tapestry in no time at all, Taylor's fingers were clumsy with the thread. But of course, Taylor _had_ no fingers in this place. But if we don't pick a metaphor and stick to it this section is only going to get harder to parse. So lets just go with the fingers-and-thread we've been favoring, under the explicit understanding that there are no fingers and there is no thread.  
  
Taylor's fingers were clumsy with the thread. It seemed to be forever trying to slip from her grasp, as it worked tirelessly to tangle itself. She pulled at threads, pushed at others, many found themselves wrapped about her fingers as she tried to guide them towards a single goal.  
  
Many times, her instructor took her hands in his own and guided her movements, helping her understand how to make her hands flow with the thread.  
  
She worked tirelessly, constantly forced to redo earlier work as parts became undone. But slowly, gradually, she made progress.  
  
And at long last, she was finished.  
  
It was nothing compared to her teacher's work before. Looking upon her own handiwork, Taylor was reminded of little more than a piece of freestyle macaroni art made by a child with a short attention span. It was a tangled web of haphazard string, like someone had thrown an unspooled yoyo at a bush. Where the original tapestry had been detailed and ornate, determining the exact time of every event as it tracked the exact fall of the branch, Taylor had done little more than ensure it would fall by the end of next week. And she'd needed far more thread to do it.  
  
To say that she was embarrassed to present this to her employer would be an understatement. Taylor felt _humiliated_. Her mind at once filled with the jeers she would have heard in school if she'd done this poorly there. Emma's mocking voice saying that Taylor really couldn't do _anything_ right echoed through her mind.  
  
Her employer moved close examine her monument to her own failure in greater detail. Taylor would have given anything to be able to offer something else, anything else. She felt a growing terror as her employer scrutinized her work, that he was going to reject her. That she'd done _too_ badly, that her failure here would be taken as proof that Taylor really _wasn't_ cut out for this. Taylor didn't know what she would do with herself if he left her. She literally had _no idea_. What was she going to _do?_

Good work, Taylor. This is downright exceptional for a student of so little experience. Its clear that I made the right decision choosing you.

She-she did well? E- _exceptional?_

Alright, that should be enough for today. You've earned a break, so go on. I won't have any more work for you for the rest of the day.

He said _he was glad he picked her?_

* * *

  
  
Taylor's eye snapped open. As she carefully climbed out of her bed, she tried to decide what to do next. She felt kind of hungry and it had been a while since breakfast, based on the sun outside, so she'd eat first. And _obviously_ she was going to go read a book after, but which one?  
  
She had _so_ many interesting looking books that she'd never even opened, but she has also been considering rereading the Harry Potter books. She suspected that the magic of the series was going to feel less fun and whimsical and more frustrating for its inaccuracies the longer she waited, so she wanted to start _soon_. But should she start _today_?  
  
One thing was sure as she headed down the stairs: she just couldn't stop smiling.


	12. Lindisfarne 2.6

Binocular vision is very useful.  
  
Yes yes, Taylor was aware of what you have to say. Only the most _controversial_ opinions are to be voiced here.  
  
But really, its genuinely difficult to wrap your mind around how convenient something is, when its something you've had your entire life.  
  
Case in point: the next morning, Friday. Taylor was by herself in the kitchen. As in, _actually_ by herself. Her father upstairs getting dressed, and her employer had left to see after some other business she wasn't privy to. Taylor had assumed she could handle pouring herself a glass of juice while her father was upstairs. She had not thus far been vindicated.  
  
The inside of her cup was as wet as the outside. There was juice all over the counter top and her hands, little droplets splashed across the front of her shirt. She'd given up on cleaning as she went after the second attempt, and by the forth the exercise wasn't really about getting something to drink anymore.  
  
No, now the cup was challenging her. It was _defying_ her.  
  
Attempt number five. Taylor breathed deeply. She was calm. Wasn't at all frustrated, or contemplating throwing the glass across the room, or barely repressing a growing undercurrent of terror. She turned the glass back upright and centered it in front of her eye, not in front of _her_ , her _eye_ , and gripped it firmly in her hand.  
  
There was a bug on the counter, two feet back and slightly to the left. A spindly little thing with an upturned red thorax and a beak-looking face. Taylor ignored it. Even if she could catch the thing with one eye, which her current technical difficulties put doubt on, she wouldn't have had a plan for what to do next. She hadn't quite stopped flinching when bugs touched her yet. Few more weeks, maybe.  
  
She was stalling.  
  
Taylor lined up the near-empty juice container with the glass, holding it firmly in her right hand. Staring very intently, she slowly, carefully tipped the container towards the glass in a highly controlled manner.  
  
The short neck of the container rested on the lip of the glass. Taylor let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She breathed deeply for a moment; she was almost done, she just needed to stay calm. Living with one eye wasn't going to be too hard once she was used to it. She just needed to fill the glass. Everything was going to be fine.  
  
She started to raise the container, still staring unblinking at the whole process. The juice started to trickle out of the container and she froze, holding completely still while the juice slowly filled her cup. Then, she-  
  
Off to the side, the bug winked out of existence.  
  
**_"SHIT!"_** she pinwheeled uncontrollably as she leapt away from the countertop, falling hard on her rear as the glass shattered on the kitchen floor, the juice container clattering off in some other direction as it doubtlessly emptied its contents all over the floor.  
  
_Fuck_ , that hurt.  
  
Taylor scrambled to her feet, ignoring how her entire body throbbed as her various injuries protested her rapid movements. The bug was gone.  
  
_What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?_  
  
Was that magic? A parahuman?  
  
Her father was thundering down the staircase, calling her name.  
  
"I'm fine!" she replied, half paying attention. Was she under attack? Could she protect her father if so? _No_ , was the emphatic response of her poor abused body.  
  
Nothing seemed to be happening, was it over? Was that some sort of spy?  
  
Her father rushed into the kitchen, demanding to know what happened in a distinctly panicked voice.  
  
Quick, think of a lie! " _Nothing!_ I was pouring myself something to drink and a centipede ran across my arm. It surprised me and I fell down." _That's_ why there's juice everywhere, honest!  
  
Her father continued to badger her about it as Taylor continued to wave him off, deep annoyance growing in the back of her mind. She might have found it touching instead, but, well...  
  
_Where is this concern for my well-being when I need **emotional** support? Where was this concerned and attentive version of Dad when Mom died?_  
  
It wasn't fair and she tried not to think about it. That's not to say that she _succeeded_.  
  
Ultimately, her father accepted her insistent claims that she was alright. Claims which were even _true_ this time! Her body was still aching a bit from the fall, but it was fading down quickly. Luck, more than skill that she'd fallen so well.  
  
Her father insisted that he would clean up the kitchen by himself before they left. Her father didn't like it, but Doctor Adelita needed to change Taylor's bandages, hence the early hour.  
  
Taylor sat on the couch trying not to feel guilty as her father cleaned her mess. Everything was going to be _fine_. This morning would _not_ be representative of the rest of her life. Practice would make perfect, and soon she'd be able to do everything normally. Everything was going to be fine.  
  
But what the _fuck_ was that bug?  
  


* * *

  
  
The car ride had been awkward. Despite no one remotely referencing him, Taylor's Canadian Boyfriend still loomed as a shadow over any and all conversational topics, strangling the life out of any line of discussion before it could really begin.  
  
Taylor _very_ relieved when they finally arrived at Doctor Adelita's home.  
  
They walked up the two flights of stairs to the doctor's home in a continuation of the awkward silence of before, broken first by Taylor ringing the doorbell.  
  
Doctor Adelita opened the door a few minutes later, a wide smile on her exhausted face, "Taylor! Its so good to see you! Come in, come in!" She waved Taylor into her home enthusiastically, but when she looked to Taylor's father her expression became somewhat strained, although Taylor couldn't really guess why "Ah, Mr Hebert, could you please wait outside?"  
  
Her father returned Doctor Adelita's strained expression with a cold glare, and rather stiffly demanded to know why.  
  
Doctor Adelita's grin had started looking slightly forced, "Frankly, Taylor's going to have to take off her shirt so I can change the bandages that are under it. So I'd like you to just wait outside."  
  
Taylor's father nodded, and grumpily vacated the doctor's doorway, which was quickly closed behind him.  
  
There was a pause while Doctor Adelita leaned back against her front door, looking tired.  
  
"Thanks," Taylor mumbled, "for making him stay outside, I mean." Doctor Adelita's explanation rang as an excuse to Taylor, as while it would make things _easier_ , most of her bandages would _not_ require her to take of her shirt to change.  
  
Doctor Adelita's expression regained its light as she turned back to Taylor, "You're absolutely welcome, Taylor. You, ah, looked a bit uncomfortable standing with him and I want you to feel at ease."  
  
Taylor smiled faintly, touched by the doctor's concern, "Thanks. We've been arguing since... Since I fell out of the tree, and its nice to be away from all that."  
  
Doctor Adelita started guiding her to a chair sitting by itself in her freshly-cleaned-ish looking kitchen. Commensurately, it looked like much of the stuff that had been piled on her counters had been shuffled elsewhere in the room.  
  
"I take it you still haven't told him?"  
  
Taylor nodded stiffly, taking off her shirt at the Doctor's becoming, might as well do this the fast way with her father gone anyway, while Doctor Adelita pulled a pot of water off from her ancient stove-top where it'd been lightly simmering.  
  
Doctor Adelita dropped a washcloth into the pot and set it beside Taylor's chair on the left. She knelt on the same side and began unraveling some of Taylor's bandages.  
  
"Would you like to tell me why?"  
  
Taylor shrugged.  
  
The doctor hmmed, and dabbed at Taylor's newly revealed skin.  
  
...  
  
"Are you worried about what he'll do when he finds out?" she asked in a serious whisper.  
  
Taylor took the question seriously. _Was_ she worried about what her father would do? She pictured her father coming to the same mistaken conclusion as Doctor Adelita that Taylor had been attacked by the Empire, and in a fit of rage trying to take revenge on her behalf.  
  
That could easily get him killed.  
  
Taylor nodded.  
  
The doctor accepted this quietly, which Taylor was grateful for.  
  
The doctor wiped away at the spot of a previous bandage, and made a pleased sound. She replaced the full-bandage with a largish bandaid. "So, when you're not climbing trees, what do you do for fun?"  
  
_Oh thank the Gods, a topic change_. "I read, mostly."  
  
"Oh? What're you reading?"  
  
Taylor could tell that the doctor was just trying to get her out of her little pity party, but she appreciated the sentiment, "I started a reread of the Harry Potter series yesterday, I'm midway through _Prisoner of Azkaban_."  
  
"Really? You're a quick reader. Got a favorite character?"  
  
Taylor shrugged, "Ron?" if she'd been asked a few years ago, she would have answered Hermione without hesitation, but, well- "Yeah, Ron. He goes through a lot, but he's always true to his friends no matter what."  
  
The doctor nodded, "We could all use a friend as loyal as Ron."  
  
Taylor made an agreeable noise. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? A few years ago, she would have answered Hermione, but a few years ago she'd taken super-close friendship for granted.  
  
The doctor smirked, "You hear how he was portrayed in the Aleph movies?"  
  
Taylor groaned exageratedly, placing her hand over her face, "Don't get me _started_ on the Aleph movies..."  
  
Doctor Adelita laughed, then continued, "Now, I know you wouldn't guess it by looking at me, but I'm a Madam Pomfrey fan myself..."  
  
Taylor stifled a giggle, then hissed in through her teeth as Doctor Adelita moved over a particularly sensitive scab.  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
Taylor waved her off, smiling a little "No no, its fine."  
  
There was a pause, much more comfortable this time.  
  
"So, do you have a _favorite_ book?"  
  
Taylor's mind froze up for a second as she tried to find an honest answer. A _favorite_ book? Taylor's mother was an English Professor, you might as well ask if she had a favorite internal organ.  
  
"I, well, I mean there's so _many_! How could I _choose_?"  
  
Doctor Adelita was the one who chuckled this time, "Alright, alright, just give me a run down of your top contenders. It doesn't have to be in order, just go through a description of the ones you like as they come to mind."  
  
"Well, okay, well, there's _And Then There Were None_ , by Agatha Christie," started haltingly.  
  
Doctor Adelita nodded, "I've heard of it, go on."  
  
Taylor felt a boost of confidence, and started to describe what she liked about the book in earnest. Taylor dived into a topic she was genuinely happy to talk about, the doctor prodding her with questions every time Taylor looked like she might be tapering off. Taylor couldn't see her own face, but the doctor could. And for a moment, Taylor looked genuinely carefree.


	13. Lindisfarne 2.7

_The book shut with a thud.  
_

_Why didn’t they leave him alone? Did they think they could all have him? Were they so stupid they thought that? Why did they keep coming every night? After five months, you’d think they’d give up and try elsewhere.  
_

_He went over to the bar and made himself another drink. As he turned back to his chair he heard stones rattling down across the roof and landing with thuds in the shrubbery beside the house. Above the noises, he heard Ben Cortman shout as he always shouted.  
_

_“Come out, Neville!”  
_

_Someday I’ll get that bastard, he thought as he took a big swallow of the bitter drink. Someday I’ll knock a stake right through his goddamn chest. I’ll make one a foot long for him, a special one with ribbons on it, the bastard.  
_

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d soundproof the house._ -

"Taylor! I was _so worried_ when I heard about your _pink eye_!"

The book shut with a thud.

Emma.

Another lunch-time hiding spot found out.

Taylor briskly left, repressing the urge to do something more substantive as the oathbreaker continued talking.

* * *

The entire school day was surreal, like walking through an Escher painting. Yesterday she was doing hands-on work learning to manipulate the very fabric that underlies reality. Today she was taking a computer coding class where half the students didn't understand how to use a search engine. Yesterday she was being taught about the government of Tawantinsuyu, which was apparently what the Incas called their Empire. Today she was sitting through a lecture by Mr Gladly on the Guatemalan Civil War, during which her employer was correcting him in real time. Apparently Gladly was an idiot, but Taylor already knew that.

Five days ago, she'd carved out her own eye with a knife. Today, Emma seemed to think that making fun of the way Taylor's bandage skewed her glasses would ruin Taylor's day.

Yesterday, her teacher treated her like she was important. Like she _mattered_.

Today, Taylor doubted a one of her teachers would have noticed if she was murdered in the building.

You know, _again_ that is.

Oh, stop being melodramatic. They eventually found your body last time, didn't they? There's no reason to think that they wouldn't notice this time too.

Taylor snorted.

That? That there was a perfect example of what she was getting at. No condescension, or subtle mocking, or implying that Taylor was just trying to get attention. No, instead her employer makes a dark half-joke to follow Taylor's. He _engaged_ with her, treated her like she was a _person_. It was a two-way relationship, instead of just some asshole making arbitrary demands from a position of power.

It was nice.

What wasn't nice was Taylor's current task.

She'd been doing this for a full four months before she'd ever met her employer. Everyday after school she would come home, clean anything off of herself that she hadn't been able to remove at school like glue or food stains, put her laundry into the hamper, and then abscond into her room. At her desk, she would begin to write.

_February 21, 2011_

Twenty-one was a multiple of three, three times seven specifically. This wasn't really relevant to what she was doing, she'd just been working to get into the habit of paying attention to that.

_11 vicious emails  
_

_General sustained verbal abuse as per standard  
_

_Sophia tried to shove me down the stairs from near the top, threw empty water bottle at me when I slipped away_

Taylor paused, thinking. Had Emma made fun of her bandage before or after Madison tried to get her to sit in paint? Hm.

Taylor ruminated on this, wracking her memory. It was important to hold on to the memories of these events, even if it hurt, in order to ensure an accurate record when she returned home.

She pushed her chair back and glared at her ceiling, "Okay, lets see... Madison would have had to have put the paint on my chair in World Issues... I think? Urgh," she briefly clenched her fingers on the edge of her chair, grimacing. Then returned to muttering, "Alright alright, Emma started the pink eye thing everyone was mocking me about the first time she saw me today... better write that down next... And _Madison_ called me a _slut_ when she saw I avoided the paint, so it _must_ have been before."

_Madison poured paint on my chair when I got up to sharpen my pencil  
_

_Emma cornered me at lunch and mocked me for the bandage over my facial injury_

That was nicely vague, Taylor thought, depending on how long I manage to hide my empty eye socket, the vagueness could come in handy. But if its found out before then, which is likely, no one will question the phrasing.

_Emma started a rumor that I had pink eye and encouraged other girls to join in  
_

_By the end of the day the rumor had caught on and I was cornered by a large group who spent the time loudly speculating increasingly vulgar ways for pink eye to have been contracted_

Taylor placed her pen down beside her notebook and looked it over, trying to remember anything she'd missed. She needed to be comprehensive if she wanted the trio to be stopped. This wasn't just a list of wrongs done to her, it was a _bill_. Life isn't fair and you should be _angry_ about that. If Taylor wanted justice then she'd need to first correctly establish what wrong had been done. Because one day, the bill might come due.

Taylor returned her journal to its correct location, and then sighed, "Yeah, wrongdoing demands recompense, doesn't it?"

She turned to stare out her window, "And _I_ murdered that raven."

What would it take to make things right?

Well, she supposed it would be easier to just _ask_ , "Excuse me? Boss? How should I make peace with the ravens? You had me kill one of them to get to the Mímisbrunnr, but that doesn't make what I did _right_. What do I do to make things right?"

It is wise of you to desire to see justice done even when it is you who have done wrong, and further it is wise to think to seek council. The truth is, Taylor, that a fair weregeld can be difficult to determine. I, however, have some experience in mediating such disputes.

"And starting them," Taylor interjected.

And starting them. So naturally I know how you could resolve this. Ravens have more interest in gold and gems than many birds, but they would not be considered as valid a form of restitution as they are in disputes between humans. To the Ravens, _food_ is rather more valuable. Bring a great feast for the entire Unkindness, and they may forgive you.

Taylor blinked, "Okay, I have two questions. Although if you count them together with the first one, that makes three."

You did a good job finding a spin on the number. Ask away.

Taylor flushed, "Ah, thank you! So the first question is; what do you mean by 'they _may_ forgive me'?"

I mean just that. I may mediate disputes of this sort, but I will not force the wronged party to accept the wrongdoer's offer. _You_ shall determine what you believe constitutes a suitable amount of food, and _they_ will decide if you have done enough. If they think not, then that is their right.

Taylor swallowed, "Okay, that makes sense. I've got about a hundred and three dollars right now, so I'll just hope that a hundred and three dollars worth of peanuts is enough for them. Thanks."

There was a pause as Taylor stared out the window, lost in thought.

You had a third question.

She blinked, "I did? Oh! Right! You referred to the ravens as 'The Unkindness' earlier, is that the name of their murder?"

Oh, no, a group of ravens is called an unkindness. A murder refers to a group of crows.

Taylor's voice caught in her throat. _She'd been using the wrong word this whole time!?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Equinox, friends.
> 
> You'll be pleased to know that I've been working on a means of making Taylor's employer's dialogue easier to differentiate from the text around it. Its not ready yet, as you've noticed, but its a problem I am aware of and am actively working to resolve.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	14. Lindisfarne 2.8

Taylor resisted the urge to scratch at her eyepatch. The new bandage Doctor Adelita had swapped in this morning was by far the smallest yet, and she'd even told Taylor that at her current rate of recovery Taylor would be able to replace it by herself soon. Didn't mean she was used to having a weird _thing_ on her face.

On the one hand it was nice to have her hair almost-entirely free again. After so long with the bigger bandages that wrapped on top of her hair, the newest one being small enough to be held on by a strap she could conceal in her curls was _very_ welcome. Her hair had always been Taylor's best feature, and she was glad to be able to wash it _properly_ again.

On the other hand, the day was fast approaching that her lie about still having two eyes would become untenable.

 _Maybe if I just start wearing aviator goggles everywhere, he won't notice._ Ugh. Joking aside, that was a conversation that Taylor wanted to have as far into the future as humanly possible. After she turned eighteen might be a good time, or maybe when Muspelheim freezes over.

Well, that was a problem for future-Taylor. Today's Taylor had other things to worry about. Like cleaning up a mess that inconsiderate fool past-Taylor had left behind for her. The nerve!

Today was Wednesday again, one week since she'd cyclopsed herself. Not that she was counting or anything.

It was after school, and she had a backpack on the seat next to her, although it wasn't her school bag. Or, it _was_ , months ago, before a few of Emma's cronies had stolen it and written cursewords all over it in Sharpie.

Apparently, backpacks that weren't appropriate for school anymore were perfectly serviceable for holding twenty-seven pounds of peanuts. Or, mostly serviceable. The backpack was just about bursting at the seams. Still, she only needed it to last until she got to the grove.

She rapped her fingers on her knee and casually-not-casually swept her head back and forth to expand her field of vision, thinking about not thinking about scratching at her eyepatch.

The bus shuddered to a stop, and people moved on and off. Taylor's stop was two more ahead, and after sitting in this giant metal tube full of people for an hour, she was _more_ than ready to get off it.

Its not that she hated being around lots of people _per se_ , but she'd never been super sociable to begin with, and with her blood sister's little ongoing treason combined with her employer constantly encouraging her to be armed at all times, getting _evocative_ whenever she objected, being around all of these people made her a little tense. Probably not nearly tense enough to give her a panic attack, she didn't think, but on the other hand she didn't know _exactly_ how panic attacks are defined.

Okay, so maybe she hated being around lots of people.

She felt the pepperspray in her pocket again, checking it was there for the umpteenth time.

The bus pulled into the next stop. Taylor continued to periodically sweep her head back and forth to keep her eye on things, trying to act natural.

_Just one more stop, and then its a short ten minute walk to the tree, fifteen minutes tops._

She rapped her fingers on her knees. She was probably going to be attacked on sight, wasn't she? She couldn't blame them, if so. She'd started it. Still, explaining a second set of full-body cuts was going to be exponentially harder than explaining the first one.

_Dad, my friends all said they **liked** watching me fall out of a tree the first time! What was I supposed to do?!_

Yeah, that's not going to work.

Taylor swept her head about again, and spotted an old woman staring at her.

_Oh Gods, do they know something? Are they a cape? A sorcerer? Something worse? What are they planning?!_

Taylor suddenly caught the exact direction of the woman's stare. Taylor looked down at her arm and it took her a moment to figure out what the woman thought was off. Then it clicked; her sleeve had slid up slightly, revealing the edge of a purple bruise.

 _Oh_. Taylor tugged down her sleeve. Usually, Taylor had a wide collection of bruises across her body in various stages of healing. But over her four day weekend off from school, all the older ones had had time to fad away while the newer ones had shifted to the yellowish color of the nearly healed. After three days back at school, however, she'd started to collect new ones again. The one on her arm was from yesterday morning; Sophia had slapped Taylor's gym locker closed while she was still using it. Taylor had barely noticed the actual pain at the time, too caught up in trying not to freak out from the vivid memories it had brought forward.

 _Gods, please just leave me alone_. Taylor though as she avoided eye contact.

Maybe she was being unreasonable? The woman might have just been worried about her. Taylor considered reassuring the woman that everything was alright, before she heard the woman mutter to the person next to her about the sort of people they let ride on the bus.

 _Wow, okay. Screw you too, lady_.

Taylor would have loved it if her stop had arrived immediately after this, but instead she had to sit there and wait in the awkward social situation for another five minutes, pretending not to notice the two people shooting nasty glances at her repeatedly.

The bus _finally_ , finally got to her stop. Taylor hefted the heavy backpack on with only a minor huff of exertion, and passed the old woman's seat just in time to hear her friend call Taylor a "dumb bint," and then she was off the bus.

Taylor started walking off in the direction of the grove, as briskly as she could with the heavy backpack. She wasn't particularly phased by the insults: she heard worse than that before first period, and its not as if two old people posed a particular physical threat.

"Hey sweet cheeks! Give us a smile!"

Taylor suppressed a shudder. _These_ guys on the other hand...

They were three men, late teens or early twenties. They were sitting outside some rundown restaurant up ahead and directly to Taylor's left, picking through a pizza when one of them had decided to single her out.

 _Just keep walking_.

The bald one shouted again, "Hey come on, don't give me that face! Sit down over here and I'll show you a good time!"

Taylor kept her head down as she kept walking, her face burning with embarrassment as the men chortled. _Don't engage with them, that'll only encourage them. Do NOT respond_.

The short one sitting next to him piped up, "Hey lady! My friend gave you a compliment! The least you can do is thank him!"

"Or give him a kiss!" Baldy catcalled again, to the laughter of his two friends

She grasped the pepper spray in her pocket.

Taylor took a deep breath. There were people and cars scattered all over the street; she shouldn't panic about being attacked. She was just getting paranoid from all the stress, is all.

She fully passed the catcallers and continued going, not making eye-contact and praying they wouldn't follow her.

"Well fuck you, bitch!" Baldy shouted.

"Frigid whore," the third one spoke for the first time.

Taylor kept walking, as the three men seemingly turned their attention away from her. She let out a breath that she had been _very aware_ that she had been holding. "Thank you, Frejya," Taylor whispered after she finally rounded a corner and broke line-of-sight.

* * *

She arrived at the ash tree's grove without further incident.

"Hello?" She called, half to alert the Ravens to her presence, as if they didn't already know, and half to check for any humans who might be inclined to snoop in, "Is anyone here?"

There was no answer, human or otherwise. She couldn't see any Ravens in the trees, but she could _hear_ them, rustling all around her. She swallowed, and approached the tree.

The tree was unchanged from the previous week. Unnervingly so: the Valknut she'd painted in blood on the bark was as clear as it had been a week before. A year ago she would have attributed that to unremarkable chance. But today it seemed a bit more meaningful. A bit more _ominous_.

She swallowed again, and then turned to address the branches above her, "I've come back to give payment for wrongs done!"

She waited, but she heard no response. She slipped off the heavy backpack, sighing in pleasure to feel the weight off of her back again. Crouching, she unzipped it, peanuts at once beginning to spill out, and waited. She felt that she should say something more, but she couldn't think of anything. Without further ado, she started scattering peanuts around the trees.

" _Really_ hoping this works," she muttered.


	15. Lindisfarne 2.9

Taylor was meticulous as she worked to spread the peanuts evenly over a significant area around the hanging tree. If she left them all in a big pile, she reasoned, that would make it harder for all of the Ravens to get to them at once. This, in turn, might be taken as an attempt to spread discord. It would be like Eris throwing an Apple labeled _For the Fairest_ , except instead of an apple it was peanuts.

Taylor emptied her hands of peanuts again, and paused to survey her work. Frankly, for all that her hands felt chapped from all the peanuts she'd been strewing around, she was just getting started. It looked like four-fifths of the backpack was yet to go, and even if that was an optical illusion there _certainly_ wasn't less than half left.

Well, if it wasn't difficult for her to preform then it wouldn't make for very good payment, would it? She wouldn't complain.

She was mentally noting several spots that she'd largely missed so far for her next few passes when she heard it.

Footsteps.

She whipped around to see the interlopers. It was much worse than she'd imagined.

Three men, two of them sporting semi-concealed triple-E tattoos, had entered the grove.

There was a pregnant pause as both sides stared at the other in surprise.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_...

"Well, now what do we have here?"

 _Cliche much?_ Keeping her face carefully neutral, Taylor shifted her stance to something a bit more ready for... _whatever the Hel_ she was going to do next. She let her arms hang limply at her sides, to disguise the fact that she was narrowing the distance between her hand and her pocket. Her eye darted around rapidly, searching for somewhere, _anywhere_ to run.

The neonazi took her silence as invitation to keep talking, "Now, what it _looks_ like, is that someone's out planting a vegetable garden on someone else's private property."

She snorted involuntarily, "This is a _public_ park," _Why the fuck am I antagonizing him? How do the semantics actually matter?!_

"Girly," he took a very deliberate step forwards, causing Taylor to involuntarily step back, "We both know that it don't matter what the Jews down at the mayor's office write on their papers; this park is the _Empire's_ property."

It was at about that moment that Taylor noticed that he had a gun shoved in his waistband. _Fuck!_

Taylor wanted to pray to her employer for help, but she hesitated. Was this a test? Would she fail if she asked for help? Taylor decided she could _not_ risk that. She desperately didn't want to make _him_ abandon her too.

She steeled herself. _I **have** to do this myself. I need to make sure he knows I'm still useful_.

"So that brings us back to _now_. Tell me, what exactly does a crip like you think they're doing, planting weeds on our turf?" he stepped forwards again, and Taylor stepped back.

Of course, that didn't mean she had any _idea_ **how** she was supposed to get out of this.

"J-just feeding the birds! Ravens like peanuts, you know?" Taylor's voice sounded a bit shrill to her ears, as she fought down panic.

"Do they? Well, I don't see any birds around here, do you guys?" the man with the gun turned to the other two nazis. Following his friends' monosyllabic negative responses, the man with the _gun_ turned back to Taylor, "Well then, it looks like your little bird feeding trip isn't going so well."

Taylor felt a sudden urge to wipe that condescending look off of his face.

 _I think I'll indulge myself_.

"Now here's what _I_ think is going on. You and your little crip friends thought you'd have one over on the Empire," He stepped closer, and Taylor stepped back, "But you knew that you could never do anything to us in _person_. So you looked up some way you could plant something that would give us a little headache. I bet if I look it up, I'll find out that peanut trees are a total pain in the ass."

 _Peanuts don't grow on trees._ Taylor thought automatically, immediately feeling annoyed with herself.

He took another step forwards, leering at her. "Now there's a _toll_ for trespassing on Empire property. But I'm gonna bet that nobody's dumb enough to give _you_ any cash. So we'll just have to find some alter-"

He started to take another step forwards mid sentence, and came to just barely more than an arm-span in front of Taylor.

She peppersprayed him in the face.

The next several moments were a terrifying blur. She dove to the ground immediately, she knew that much. There were gunshots and screaming, one of them tried to hit her with a branch while she desperately rolled away. At some point she'd leapt to her feet again to run around behind the tree, only for one of them to throw something shiny at her face. On pure reflex, she snapped up her hands to protect her eye, and something thudded hard against her forearm before bouncing away. And then she was behind the tree.

There were two more gunshots on the other side of the hanging tree. Taylor scrambled to grab a fallen branch that looked like it might have some heft to it; whichever one came around the tree first, she'd hit them between the legs. She waited, breathing hard.

And she waited.

There was a strange noise coming from somewhere, but Taylor pushed it out of her mind.

And still she waited.

_Where are they?_

Something clicked in her brain, and she suddenly understood the noise she was hearing; _weeping_. Someone was moaning in agony. And there was only one voice.

Taylor fought to get her breathing back under control for several moments, then hefted her branch like a bat and very cautiously looked around the side of the tree. All three neonazis were on the ground, two motionless, the third writhing in agony.

_Did they seriously fucking shoot each other to death?_

Taylor let her arms fall to her sides, and slowly crept towards one of the bodies. It was the one of the left, the one that looked like a beet. He looked, to Taylor's inexperienced eye, like he'd been shot in the chest. _You know, based on the hole he has in his chest that's letting his blood leak out all over the place._

That last bit might have been funny if Taylor couldn't feel herself dry heaving.

She looked to the next one. This was the man with the gun, she recognized at once. _He looks pretty dead. Knife in his throat and all._

Nope, wasn't funny that time either. When did that even happen? Who had a knife, and how do you accidentally stab your friend with it?

Was she hyperventilating? She didn't _think_ so, but she would admit she was breathing a _bit_ faster than normal.

She looked to the last one, the one that was only crying in agony. Gods, he wasn't any more fun to look at than the other two. Taylor wasn't a doctor, but she didn't need to be one to know that knee wasn't going to be the same again.

What could be the chances of something like this happening? Taylor's stomach suddenly dropped further, if that was even possible. _Did my employer save me? Did- did that mean I failed the test? Is he going to leave me?_

Okay, maybe she was hyperventilating, but only a little bit.

Taylor.

_Oh no no no!_ "S-sir, please I can explain! I wasn't prepared for the test, but I promise I can do better next time, just please-!"

Taylor! _Relax_. This was not a test, and if it had been I still wouldn't be mad. Today was just another learning experience.

Taylor felt a huge and confusing jumble of emotions at the same time, but the overwhelming one was _relief_.

_He's still not leaving me! I haven't driven him away yet!_

She felt strangely giddy, considering the circumstances "Just- just a lesson? But I'm not sure what I've learned..."

That would be because the lesson isn't over yet. Taylor, take stock of your situation. What is the immediate concern?

The _immediate_ concern? "Ah, not getting caught?" Taylor felt lightheaded as she looked around herself. Namely, at all of the blood and the two dead people. Taylor imagined that there were certain people who might frown on this if they saw it.

Hm. And what would be the first step to making that happen?

"Running?" Taylor's fingers felt all tingly, was that normal?

Heh, no, before that.

Taylor started to deliberately take slow, deep breaths.

 _Before_ she ran? She looked around herself.

Uh-oh.

"You- you don't mean you want me to search the c- co- corpses for valuables, do you?" Taylor's voice sounded frightened even to her own ears, and she desperately tried to get it under control in the midst of coming down from the adrenaline high.

No no, that would take too long and you'd leave even more evidence of your presence than you already have.

"Then what?"

That Nazi on the ground saw your face.

Taylor's mind screeched to a halt as she tried to process what he meant and _wouldn't_.

...

"Oh."

Yes.

"I- I have to-?"

Yes.

"But... but he's already beaten! The police can just arrest him!"

Yes, and then he could just give your description to the first visitor he gets.

"There have to be _thousands_ of girls with black hair, a wide mouth and glasses in this city," she pleaded.

And of them, how many have one eye?

That one stopped Taylor short.

"But, he could have a family! Isn't that important?" her voice suddenly sounded weak, like she'd just been invited to her own funeral.

He's a nazi, Taylor. That's important too.

Taylor's breathing was steady again, but she felt far from relaxed, "Oh Gods."

She glanced down and found that the gun was directly beside her. What a _coincidence_.

She picked it up, "Oh Gods."

As if she was sleepwalking, she stepped forwards to stand besides the surviving neonazi.

She pointed the gun point-blank at his chest, "I don't think I can do this."

You can, and you must. If you leave him alive, do you think perhaps he'll tell the police that his friends and himself were at fault, and there's no need to go looking for the fourth person who was here?

"Oh _Gods_ ," she clenched her hand tightly around the gun, her knuckles turned while.

And then she was alone beneath the hanging tree.

Taylor let out a shuddering sob as she dropped the pistol and fell to the ground. Hugging her knees, she sobbed quietly for a time.

Before her eye, she saw a single black bird flap down from the obscuring trees above. It landed before her on the chest of the man Taylor had just _murdered_.

The raven looked at her with deep, knowing eyes.

Then, the bird opened their beak and _spoke_. With a voice that sounded like little else than a child speaking through a voice modulator, the bird looked Taylor in the eye and said, "After careful consideration, we have decided to accept your offering."

Taylor had barely had time to process that she'd just seen an animal _talk_ , before the Raven turned downwards and ripped a chunk of flesh off of the dead man's face. As Taylor watched in frozen horror, the raven gulped down their prize, and returned for more.

Taylor jumped to her feet. Looking around in a panic, she saw that the trees were once more _filled_ with Ravens. _Where did they all COME from?!_

Taylor didn't stay to ask. She ran from the grove as fast as she could, as the Unkindness began to surge down from the branches above to partake in Taylor's gifts.


End file.
